


just an echo of what i feel for you

by Lire_Casander



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Angst, Child Abuse, Español | Spanish, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Inspired by Real Events, Kid Fic, M/M, Mentions of terrorist attacks, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, warnings in each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 23:39:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 27,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18559456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lire_Casander/pseuds/Lire_Casander
Summary: My collection of tumblr prompts, all mixed together, if the length of the fic is under 1k words. If it's over 1k words, I'll post them separately.Tagging will increase as updates come.





	1. disappearing until you look at me ~ Max/Liz + high school throwbacks

**Author's Note:**

> Series title from a very well known quote from the show. I do not own anything.
> 
> Unbeta'ed. Please point out any mistakes you might find.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _he goes about his days on autopilot_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [theballetslippertheblackhoodie](http://theballetslippertheblackhoodie.tumblr.com/), who asked for **Max/Liz + highschool throwbacks**. Enjoy!
> 
> Title's a quote from the one and only Max Evans.

He goes about his days on autopilot – he gets up, takes a shower, drives his way to the town and into the precinct, does some desk duty and tries to save Michael from himself. Every day, rinse and repeat, until the dullness of it all melts with the boredom and all he does is stare at a wall whenever he comes back home. 

His nights, however, stretch into a completely different scenario. 

When he closes his eyes, he sees her, in all the glory her seventeen self irradiates in his dreams. 

He watches as she leans over the microscope at the lab, during one of the classes they shared at high school. She has those goggles on, covering half of her face, as she mutters something in Spanish. She’s always sprinkling her speeches with some of her parents’ language, as if she really believes no one in Roswell, New Mexico is capable of understanding a tiny bit of Spanish thrown their way. 

She pokes and prods and writers down notes in that neat handwriting of hers, everything organized and categorized in lists and columns and spreadsheets. When she thinks she’s done with whatever tests she’s been running on their current assignment, she sighs contentedly and looks up at him wearing a wide grin. 

Her smile turns into a frown as she studies his face, looking for something that must be wrong in him. For a moment he panics, thinking she can see through him and pick on his feelings – raw and uncontrolled and pure. And then, she lifts her right hand and wipes his lip with a swift movement of her thumb. 

“You had hot sauce,” she states, shrugging it off and going back to the samples and the microscope. 

He clenches his fists in an attempt to restrain his powers that threaten to spill over and cause more damage than he would like them to. His efforts turn out to be to no avail, since there is a loud bang and the lights in the lab explode in a succession of sparks and broken glass. 

So much for wishful thinking. 

They are ushered outside when the emergency power shows no sign of functioning. He grabs his bag slowly as she moves about the desk gathering her belongings. They are the last ones to saunter out of the lab, finding their way out through the halls he knows so well, until they part ways before even stepping on the grass surrounding the school parking lot. 

If it were really a dream, it would end with them meeting up outside the school instead of heading back to their respective homes after the blackout. If it were more than just a fantasy, he would kiss her under the streetlights, in front of their friends, never caring about anything save for his love for her and her sheer innocence. 

But it is a memory, and he can’t change it as much as he wants to because he has no reign over his own mind when he’s asleep. There is no room for hope when his life has always had a purpose so different it comes from another planet. 

The dream drifts away when he opens his eyes, but the promise of more lingers through his days, helping him to endure the hardest parts of his unhuman existence.


	2. stand in the part of the room that the sun hits first ~ Max/Liz + "Marry me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to keep this to himself_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [theballetslippertheblackhoodie](http://theballetslippertheblackhoodie.tumblr.com/), who asked for **Max/Liz + "Marry me."**. Enjoy!
> 
> Title's a quote from the one and only Max Evans.

He’s been carrying the velvet box around for what feels like months, and it’s only been half a week. He doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to keep this to himself, because he’s dying to find the perfect moment to kneel down and pop the most important question of his whole life.

At first he plans to take Liz to a fancy restaurant for a dinner out. It’s been a year since they first kissed in the open sun back at the mines, and he wants to make it perfect. He makes a reservation at a cool restaurant that’s newly opened downtown, and settles for a white shirt and dress trousers, no tie. He’s nervous as he approaches the Crashdown to pick Liz up, because this is going to be big, and it’s going to change his life _forever_. But Arturo stops him when he saunters into the diner, and tells him Liz hasn’t been feeling well for most of the day, and he’s just managed to convince her to take a nap. _Nada de salir hoy,_ he admonishes in that amused voice he reserves to him and Michael. Even if it’s spoken in Spanish, he understands it all the same. He asks for permission to go up and kiss Liz goodnight at least, earning himself a hearty laughter from Arturo and his blessing, so he runs up the stairs and leaves a trail of butterfly kisses on her forehead when he notices her soundly sleeping in her bedroom.

After the anniversary-that-wasn’t, he decides to take a trip down memory lane and invites Liz to a road trip through the desert – just the two of them and the sand and the sun. His idea is to find an open spot far enough for them to be alone but near enough not to have to drive too long back home. He plans for it to be a surprise, so he shows up at the hospital the one Friday afternoon he has off, after she’s fully recovered from the flu she’d caught, red roses in one hand and the velvet box in his jean’s right pocket. He knocks on the lab door smoothly, hiding the bouquet as he peeks inside. She is enthusiastically explaining something to Michael, both dressed in white coats and wearing matching grins as she talks and talks, strings of words he doesn’t really understand falling from her lips. It sounds as if she’d made some important discovery, and Michael is already cheering in delight and leaning in to hug her – and if there’s something he has learned during his time on Earth, it is that Michael Guerin isn’t one to easily give into PDA. Slowly, he retreats, unable to interfere in that peaceful moment between the love of his life and his own brother.

It’s another Friday afternoon, and they are lazing on the couch at his ranch, just the two of them. It’s been a tiring week, but somehow they’ve managed to scrape a couple of hours together, and if he manages to convince her, maybe Liz will be staying the night. There’s less risk out there of the outage to be noticed in case it happens, and he doesn’t have the looming presence of Arturo Ortecho to restrain him. Liz is fidgeting with energy by his side; she stands up and shuffles through his CD collection until she finds something she likes enough to chance putting it on the player. And then, as the music blasts through the speakers she had Michael install in his living room, Liz starts to dance. 

He just can’t stop himself from watching her as she twirls around the furniture, in tune with the music and so cute he wants to snuggle with her and never let go. 

He blurts out the words before he can think better of it, but he can’t resent ever saying them.

“Marry me.”

It isn’t planned. It isn’t perfect. But this is how he wants to live his life – carefree, cheerful, and besides her. This is how he proposes, and it couldn’t be more perfect.

Her wide smile could brighten up the whole town anytime he accidentally provokes an outage, and she nods fervently. “Of course I will, Max,” she replies, excitement ever present in her voice. “I can’t wait to start the rest of my life with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Nada de salir hoy_ ~ _Not going out today_


	3. no more waiting ever ~ Max/Liz + spicy hotel rooms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _the jalapeño room isn’t half as bad as she remembered_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [theballetslippertheblackhoodie](http://theballetslippertheblackhoodie.tumblr.com/), who asked for **Max/Liz + spicy hotel rooms**. Maybe it isn't what you were looking for, but I had real fun writing it. Enjoy!
> 
> Title's a quote from the one and only Liz Ortecho.

The Jalapeño room isn’t half as bad as she remembered. Her memories are, however, clouded by time and everything that happened that night. But they aren’t back here because of what happened so many years ago. 

They’re here because it’s the first stop of their family road trip for the summer holidays – they've taken Michael and Isobel along for a bit of family fun after a long winter of too much working and too little fun – and neither Max nor herself could resist to throw in a bit of a walk down to memory lane. After all, Michael never got to sleep on the Alamo room, and it’s only payback that they’ve locked him in. 

“He shouldn’t have been so greedy on the snacks,” Max snickers as he closes the door of their room, sagging against it with laughter. “I know he’ll open that damned door in less than five seconds, but it’s been fun, to see his face.”

She turns around from her spot in the middle of the room, where she has stopped her crazed run from Michael’s rage when he realized what they were going to do with him after the Oreo fiasco. With a knowing glance, she approaches him. “I know what we can do to keep him away from this room whenever he comes for revenge,” she says with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

“You do, don’t you?” Max leaves his spot against the door and takes a step towards her, only to be pushed back again when she literally jumps onto him. He manages to catch her before his back hits the surface. “A bit eager, aren’t we?”

“As if you weren’t thinking about it,” she whispers, just a millimeter away from his lips. 

He closes the distance and kisses her softly, but she’s having none of it. “You already know this is the _jalapeño_ room, right?” she states, breaking their kiss for a moment. “You can’t go all _vainilla_ in here, mister.”

“Are you throwing Spanish back at me, _señora de Evans_?” he counters, shifting her weight so she’s slowly sliding down to the ground. “Two can play this game.”

“I don’t see _you_ playing with anything,” she throws back at him as she plants both her feet on the room floor and takes a step back. “Here I thought you were up for some grown-up fun.”

“Oh, I’ll show you how _up_ to it I already am,” he growls. She half turns to meet him when he reaches for her waist, invading her personal space and bruising a kiss on her lips. Suddenly there’s a rush between them that wasn’t there before, and they are limbs and pants and whispers.

The door flings open, crashing against the wall. “Ew,” they hear. They don’t need to look up from each other to know the face of disgust gracing Michael’s features. “I’m going to bleach my brain, don’t mind me.”

“Tell Isobel we won’t be getting in time for dinner,” Max calls after him as they both sense the door closing. “Now, where were we?”

Their laughter follows Michael through the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _vainilla_ ~ vanilla  
>  _señora de Evans_ ~ Mrs Evans


	4. teetering on the edge of a cliff  ~ Max/Liz + dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Evans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“it’s like nothing i have is good enough for this dinner.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [theballetslippertheblackhoodie](http://theballetslippertheblackhoodie.tumblr.com/), who asked for **Max/Liz + dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Evans**. Sorry there isn't any actually any Max in this, but he's all over the whole story. Enjoy!
> 
> Title's a quote from the one and only Liz Ortecho.
> 
> Beta'ed by [estel_willow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estel_willow) and cheerleader'ed by [Shenanigans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans). You two are the best!

“You’ve tried like, half the clothes in your closet, and most of them are on the floor of this room, Liz,” she hears Maria whine from her spot in the bathroom, checking the last outfit she’s tried on. “Don’t tell me you don’t have anything to wear, the state of this room doesn’t seem to agree!”

“I do _not_ have anything to wear,” she complains as she exits the bathroom, black trousers and red blouse in place. “It’s like nothing I have is good enough for this dinner.”

“Liz,” Maria says in a stern voice. “It is just an informal dinner with Max’s parents. You’ve been engaged before, you already have experience with meeting the parents!”

“Thanks for reminding me of Diego, geez,” Liz frowns, looking at her reflection in the mirror. “This is different. Seemingly I’m the first girlfriend Max has brought to dinner _in his whole life_ , so I feel a little more pressured than I should.”

 

“You’ll do fine,” Maria says while scanning the contents of her closet before sighing and turning to the pile of clothes on the floor. “What about you try that green dress on again? I bet we can make it be the perfect option!”

“That green dress shows a lot more than I’d like to!”

Maria makes a sound that Liz decides to ignore. Stripping off the red blouse, she steps once again into her closet and lets her gaze wander through, scanning the racks until she finds what she’s looking for. "What about this one?" she asks, showing a white shirt with green scattered artistically throughout the sleeves. "It goes with the black, and I would only be left to find the perfect pair of shoes."

Looking relieves, Maria nods eagerly. "You can borrow my black stilettos, the ones with the green stones attached to the heels."

"You know I love you, right?" 

"You actually owe me," Maria smirks as she picks up her bag. "I will be back in no time, just need to get home for the shoes. Get ready for your night out, girl. Maybe you'll get some action tonight!" 

Liz is finishing her makeup, small touches of naked foundation and a glint of red lipstick, when Maria comes back holding a shoe box in her hands.

"Just in time," she wheezes out. "Max said he'd be picking you up at six thirty, and it's almost time."

Liz grabs the shoe box from her friend's hands, deftly opening the lid and taking out the stilettos – the right shade of black and the perfect amount of green. "Thanks," she says again. Laughing, Maria dismisses her just in time for the doorbell to ring, announcing Max. "I'll better be going."

"Have fun!" 

Maria waits impatiently until she can’t help it anymore and she spies them from her secure spot behind the glass on Liz's window. She watches as Max praises her hair and says something about Liz being the most beautiful woman in Roswell, and it's the voice he uses when he's talking to Liz that makes Maria's heart flutter. 

As Max reassures Liz that she'll be fine, that his parents will love her, Maria leans back onto Liz's bed and sighs. Her job at keeping these two together in the same track is already over. 

Maybe it's due time that she convinces Alex to let her play matchmaker with some cute guys at the Pony.


	5. get what you came here for ~ Liz surprising Max by wearing nothing but some lingerie and her lab coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Three weeks have passed since Isobel and Michael brought Max back to her after six weeks – she would reflect on how in tune the twins are, even during a life threatening event – and life has been as normal as it can get in Roswell_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [theballetslippertheblackhoodie](http://theballetslippertheblackhoodie.tumblr.com/), who asked for **Liz surprising Max by wearing nothing but some lingerie and her lab coat**. Enjoy!
> 
> Title's a quote from one Liz Ortecho.

Three weeks have passed since Isobel and Michael brought Max back to her after six weeks – she would reflect on how in tune the twins are, even during a life threatening event – and life has been as normal as it can get in Roswell. They have been working on a cover up story for the month and a half that Max has spent in a pod in the middle of the desert, and while Liz has tried her best to keep her hands to herself, being able to spend time with Max while plotting how to get away with a credible story is taking its toll on her. 

She needs to _feel_ him, and Kyle has discharged Max from the hospital room they have him holed up in. She needs his handprint in her skin, the way she’s had it hot and glowing nine weeks before on that dreadful day that started so wonderfully and ended up being a disaster. 

So, on the first day Max is back home, while the Clubhouse Squad is working on getting a plausible background story for his absence, Liz calls it quits at the lab and runs home with a single thought in mind. She quickly changes clothes and grabs her purse before heading out again, so fast Arturo’s voice is the only thing that follows her on her way out. In her haste, she almost forgets to button her coat over her white lab coat

“¿Dónde vas tan rápido?” he calls after her, but she’s not paying attention. “Liz! Oh, la juventud.”

She snickers as she jumps into her car and ignites the engine. The trip to Max’s ranch usually takes her half an hour – she makes it in under twenty. “Max?” she asks as she opens the unlocked front door. “Max?” she repeats, and when she hears the sound of a shower running, she knows what she has to do.

She gets rid of her coat and jumps straight onto the bed in the main bedroom, making sure her lab coat is open, leaving little to imagination as she puts her red, lacy lingerie on display. Their first time together wasn’t planned, she had been wearing a normal, boring bra – she had wanted to make it special and although it ended up being something quite unexpected, she’s plotting for it to become cosmic.

If the look on Max’s face as he walks out of the ensuite bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, is something to go by, Liz has succeeded spectacularly. “What are you-” he falters, tripping over his own feet. “Liz,” he chokes out, a sound strangled and primal, before the towel drops, and with it all restraints flee as well.

Afterwards, while he traces soft patterns on her back and she’s resting half her weight on top of him, she dares to ask, “I take it you liked my surprise?”

“Oh, very much indeed,” he replies with a burst of laughter. “Feel free to surprise me anytime you want, Liz.”

And so she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _¿Dónde vas tan rápido?_ ~ Where are you going so fast?  
>  _Oh, la juventud._ ~ Oh, the youth


	6. i know those moments ~ Liz jumping her cowboy, like a horse in the saddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When Michael walks into Max’s living room, black cowboy hat in hand because he knows how Liz hates bad manners inside the house, he isn’t expecting the sight in front of him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [theballetslippertheblackhoodie](http://theballetslippertheblackhoodie.tumblr.com/), who asked for **Liz jumping her cowboy, like a horse in the saddle**. Enjoy!
> 
> Title's a quote from Michael Guerin.
> 
> I'm pretty sure this isn't what you were aiming for, but it's what inspiration decided I needed to write.

“What? No, no, you’re crazy!”

“It’s scientifically proven that-”

“I don’t care about science, I don’t want to have to go to the hospital in the end!”

When Michael walks into Max’s living room, black cowboy hat in hand because he knows how Liz hates bad manners inside the house, he isn’t expecting the sight in front of him.

Max is crouched over himself, as if unable to stand still, and Liz is running a soothing hand through his spine, all the while alternating between cooing sounds and the occasional burst of words – Michael apparently has walked in during one of those.

“What’s going on here?” he asks, running to Max’s side. “Are you hurt? What’s happened?”

“Oh, you know, the perks of being an old man,” Liz tries to make light fun of it. “He went to stand up and couldn’t.”

“What?”

“And then he tried to make it all better by standing on his feet and he couldn’t stand straight.”

“That’s not-” Max inhales deeply as he tries to stand straighter than before. A groan after, he gives up. “My back. I must have pinched a nerve or something. It hurts.”

“So let’s call Valenti,” Michael suggests. “You know I’m not keen on the man, but he’s the only doctor who knows about us that I trust.”

“It’s enough embarrassing as it is, I don’t need anyone else knowing I can’t stand straight.”

“If you’d just let me try.”

“What do you want to try?” Michael questions Liz, because right now she seems like the only one with a suggestion that isn’t ending up with them at a hospital wing.

“I’ve read that, given circumstances just like this one, enough weight put against the place where the nerve is twisted can help soothing it.”

“What do you mean, we drop a ton on his back and see if _that_ soothes him?”

“No,” Max groans, attempting to straighten himself and failing. “She means she wants to jump onto my back and see if that works.”

Michael frowns down at them – Max trying to hide the pain he wears on his face, Liz torn between scolding him and soothing him – and finally speaks. “I don’t see why not.”

“Michael,” Max warns.

“You’re already in pain, so if it doesn’t work, what can you do? Go to Valenti? That was the first idea, wasn’t it? This is just a shortcut of sorts,” Michael explains.

Max wants to come back with something witty, but he doesn’t have the time to do so. Liz is already getting ready, withdrawing from him and working up the nerve to jump. Michael sees the scene before him as if in slow motion, and not for the first time he wonders whether he should have brought popcorn.

After Liz gathers her strength for impulse, she inhales once, deeply, and then she’s jumping onto Max’s back, the forced piggyback making him stumble before catching himself. And then he’s trying to stand up in order not to drop Liz, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, Michael can say it doesn’t feel like pain searing through him anymore.


	7. what if I change my plans for you ~ "My first thought when I wake up tomorrow will be you." + Echo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He’s always wanted to run away with her. He would have changed his plans, he would have agreed to have his life turned upside down and flipped over, just for Liz Ortecho._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [theballetslippertheblackhoodie](http://theballetslippertheblackhoodie.tumblr.com/), who asked for **"My first thought when I wake up tomorrow will be you." + Echo**. Enjoy!
> 
> WARNING: This is angst.
> 
> Title's a quote from our beloved Max Evans.

He’s always wanted to run away with her. He would have changed his plans, he would have agreed to have his life turned upside down and flipped over, just for Liz Ortecho.

Rosa’s death and subsequent overall debacle stopped them from having their happily ever after – his own decisions have come in the way, and now all he’s left with is a broken sister, a wrecked brother and the feeling that he’s never going to control his own life ever again.

Liz is leaving the town – she’s leaving _him_ – before they even have the time to talk.

He makes it just in time to see her hopping into her car – _Rosa’s_ – and he rushes to the side of the vehicle, one hand pressed against the metal, preventing her from closing the door. “Please don’t go,” he pants, in part because of the running, in part because he’s always short of breath when it comes to her. “Please, wait a second. There’s a lot I have to say to you.”

“I can’t,” she says stubbornly, one hand pulling at the door while the other is white knuckles over the steering wheel. “I have to go.”

“Liz, please,” he doesn’t care that his voice breaks right by the end. He feels as broken as his dreams, reflected in the sadness of Liz’s eyes.

“Let me go, Max,” she whispers. It sounds so final that he has to drop his hold on the door, but she doesn’t close it yet. “It’s better this way. This town only just holds bad memories for me. Let me go.”

He wants to be stubborn and plead again, kick the ground and convince her to stay with him – because he sure as hell can’t leave Roswell right now, he can’t leave Isobel when she needs him most – but he just stands still, like a puppet whose strings have been cut wildly before he could get to make any movement.

“Please,” he tries one last time even though he knows it’s futile.

“Goodbye, Max,” she bids, biting her bottom lip, and it’s more than he can take. All of a sudden he’s leaning into, catching her wrist in his hand and kissing the inside with a soft peck of lips on skin that sends shivers up his spine.

“My first thought when I wake up tomorrow will be you,” he promises. “And the day after that, and every other day.”

“Don’t make promises you cannot keep, Max,” she says more firmly, skin blossomed in goosebumps wherever he’s touched her. “I’m not coming back.”

“Then I’ll wait forever,” and he means it.

The door closes, the engine roars and the car gets started without him being able to do anything to stop her. He just stands awkwardly on the curb, hands weirdly outstretched and broken heart on his sleeve.

As she drives away, him becoming smaller and smaller in her rearview mirror, Liz only wants to cry. She allows one tear down before straightening and looking back in to the road.

This is her life now.


	8. love is out of control ~ max during that final moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He wills his hand to keep glowing_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Sarah, who asked for **max during that final moment**. Enjoy!
> 
> WARNING: Angst. Character death. Read at your own risk.
> 
> Title's a quote from Michael Guerin, from the finale.

He wills his hand to keep glowing. It’s starting to fade, his consciousness is starting to slip, and he’s suddenly so tired he could sleep for three days straight. But Rosa’s still cold under his fingers, and he knows he can do this. 

He can save her now, with this power he’s gathered from a lightning in the middle of a storm. He can save her now even if he couldn’t before – because right now he’s the most powerful being in the whole world.

He cries out, heart pumping to a beat that’s becoming more and more erratic. But his hand never leaves Rosa’s chest; he wants to right the wrongs from his past, the bad decisions he’s taken over the years, starting with not being there for his sister, and ending with aiming a gun at his brother.

He isn’t that – he isn’t all guns ablazing and violent streaks – he needs to believe he can be good for a moment, in this precise fragment of time in between heartbeats and shaky breaths. He wants to be the kind of man Liz deserves.

Even if he’s never going to be human.

The surge of power is draining him, making him sloppy and totter. But he keeps going, hand red and glaring, leaving a print that’s going to last far longer than the rest he’s ever left on Liz’s skin. He looks down at Rosa, gaze unfocused, and he thinks he can feel her chest heave. He stops for a second, and listens, forcing himself to zero in on her breathing. 

She coughs, broken and rusty – she hasn’t opened her mouth in over ten years. She isn’t going to be able to speak in a while, but she’s definitely alive. She shakes under the pressure of his hand, and he lifts it. 

Rosa’s alive.

Liz is going to be so happy – Isobel’s going to kill him. He shakes his head in an attempt to clear it, but his brain feels like drowning in an ocean too wide for him to grasp its edges. He wants to speak, welcome Rosa back to life, but nothing comes out through his lips as he struggles to find the words. Rosa opens her eyes and locks them with his, awake and alert.

He’s suffocating. He can feel his lungs closing up, his throat expanding until there’s no space for the air to pass. He collapses next to Rosa, who’s now up and looking as scared as a teenager would look in her situation. His knees are trying to push him upwards, but he doesn’t have the strength to make his limbs obey his exhausted brain.

Maybe he can heal himself. It shouldn’t be difficult, and he’s healed other aliens before so it shouldn’t take that much power. He lifts his hand again, tries to place it on his chest, but the will is not enough and the movement dies halfway, as he drops on his back, awkward angled, sprawled on the soil of a cave in the middle of nowhere.

Alone except for Rosa, who will never understand what’s happened because no one’s there to explain it to her.

He still resists, although there’s a pull that’s taking him down to a place he doesn’t want to go. It’s warm and bright, but he’s walking that path on his own. Where’s Liz? Where’s his sister? He can’t leave them, he can’t go on without telling Michael that he’s sorry, that Michael will forever be his family – he has no time, now.

Maybe he never had.

There’s no fight in him, not anymore. His right hand makes a feeble attempt at reaching out, but it’s broken before even being born.

Eyes still wide open, he breathes out for one last time. And then there’s darkness.


	9. breathless ~ “Kiss me.” + Rosa/Isobel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The party is going strong in Katie Long’s living room_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [theballetslippertheblackhoodie](http://theballetslippertheblackhoodie.tumblr.com/), who asked for **“Kiss me.” + Rosa/Isobel**. Enjoy!

The party is going strong in Katie Long’s living room. No adults in sight, and a long line of people waiting for their turn at the punch bowl, where Michael himself has spiked the beverages with some rum. But the moment Rosa sets foot into the house, hand in hand with Frederico, everything goes quiet round Isobel. No matter that the party is still as lively as it was a second before, she feels she can’t breathe.

She decides to get outside for a breath of fresh air, patting away Max’s hand as he tries to comfort her when he senses through their link that she’s uneasy. She just needs air, a clear head, because she’s had one too many spiked punch glasses. It’s just that.

Not as if it breaks her heart whenever she sees Rosa with him – a vicious grip on her heart twisting and poking until there’s nothing left but grief. She had her chance, she knows that, but she was too scared to admit that she might want something that goes against anything she’s been taught.

Girls go out with boys. Maybe Alex Manes is different, but he’s not like _her_. She can’t like Rosa like that.

She just can’t.

Someone’s clearing their throats behind her. She takes her time sweeping away her unwelcomed tears before acknowledging the person stalking her. Rosa’s at her back when she turns around. They haven’t talked in ages, not after a big row they had in front of everyone at school, when she had been too scared to admit that she wanted Rosa’s friendship – that she wanted _more_ than Rosa’s friendship.

“What are you doing here all alone?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” she spits sourly.

“Well, I’m the only one who walked out here looking for you, ain’t I?” Rosa states. “I know it’s none of my business, but I do care, Isobel. I already told you, I _care_ about you.”

“Then why were you playing handsy with Frederico?” she bursts out, unable to stop herself before the words come out of her mouth.

Rosa seems taken aback by her, as though she’s been sucker punched. “Frederico and I aren’t-okay, actually no. You don’t get to do this. Why do you suddenly care? Are you jealous? Because I quite recall _that_ last time, and you were more than happy to let me go!”

She wipes away one tear angrily. “I didn’t know, okay? I didn’t know it would hurt so much!”

“What hurts, Isobel?” Rosa asks, and for the first time she sounds small, taking an insecure step towards her. They seem to orbitate around each other for long moments before rosa speaks again. “What hurts?”

“Everything,” she whispers slowly, eyes closing as Rosa approaches her one step at a time. “Everything hurts when you’re not around.”

The pain stops when Rosa’s hand touches her arm, fire roaming against the tender skin. “I’m never far away.”

“But you’re not here, and I didn’t know it would be like this. I just. I don’t want it to hurt like this,” Isobel confesses. “I want you to make it stop.”

“How do you want me to do so?” Rosa questions so softly the words might have been mouthed instead of spoken, but she hard hem nonetheless.

“Kiss me,” she dares, hoping against hope that _that_ might be enough.

A touch of lips on lips later, and she knows it will be.


	10. desperation ~ Rosa/Isobel + “You look amazing tonight.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They are hanging out on the Crashdown rooftop, smoking pot and figuring out constellations_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [theballetslippertheblackhoodie](http://theballetslippertheblackhoodie.tumblr.com/), who asked for **Rosa/Isobel + “You look amazing tonight.”**. Enjoy!

They are hanging out on the Crashdown rooftop, smoking pot and figuring out constellations, when Rosa speaks, slurred, “You look amazing tonight.” Rosa’s eyes roam over her body, her leather jacket covering a strapless blouse, tight jeans and boots completing the look.

She _does_ look good.

“Why thank you,” she replies, arm surrounding Rosa’s shoulders. “You don’t look bad yourself, you know.” And she leans in to kiss her full lips, instead of praising the worn out maroon sweater that fits perfectly over those jeans with painting stains that drive her crazy.

Later on, when she’s back in her bedroom, her whole body tingling, she can’t help but think about how they always end up in their same spot under the stars, finding their own path back to reality. She’s happy with how thing are developing, but she knows Rosa wants more, _needs_ more, and she’s not sure when that particular subject will be brought up.

Or whether she’ll be able to give Rosa what her heart desires.

The shrilling ringtone from her cell startles her. She smiles when she sees Rosa’s name on the screen.

“Go out on a date with me,” Rosa says first thing when she picks up the phone.

“What?”

“Go out. On a date. With me,” Rosa repeats as if she’s talking to a little child. “We hardly ever go anywhere that’s not the rooftop and the desert. So, c’mon, Go out on a date with me.”

“I heard you the first time,” Isobel replies, hands gripping the phone tighter against her ear. 

“Then, what do you say? Milkshakes and fries at the Crashdown, then a wild drive through the desert?”

And she could agree with the last part, but the first one is irking her too much to be ignored. “What about we skip the Crashdown and go straight to the desert part?”

“What for, so you can make out with your girlfriend where no one can see you?” Rosa half mocks, but when she remains silent on her side of the line, Rosa’s breath catches. “That’s it,” she says. “That’s what’s happening with you these days. You are _ashamed_. Of me. Because I am a _girl_.”

“You know that’s not-”

“¡Basta! I don’t want to hear any of it.” Rosa waits a moment, sucks in a breath, before speaking again. “I’ve always had the feeling that this was just a pastime for you, Isobel. Guess I was right. But how I wanted to be wrong.”

“Wait, Rosa, please let me-”

“It’s over, Isobel,” Rosa states, and she can feel her own heart crushing. “You don’t want to be seen with me. That’s it. We’re over.”


	11. together ~ Rosa/Isobel + “You’re the only one I wanna wake up next to.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She’s seventeen the winter everything changes, the season she begins to grow up and realizes that everyone has plans for a future she might never have_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [theballetslippertheblackhoodie](http://theballetslippertheblackhoodie.tumblr.com/), who asked for **Rosa/Isobel + “You’re the only one I wanna wake up next to.”**. Enjoy!

She’s seventeen the winter everything changes, the season she begins to grow up and realizes that everyone has plans for a future she might never have. Max has been talking nonstop about wandering through Europe with just his backpack, their parents nodding and praising that their son wants a come-of-age experience abroad. And Michael – Michael is going to get that full scholarship to whatever college he wants to go to, and she’s ending up alone in Roswell, no plans, no future, no brothers.

Nothing but a black hole in her chest where her heart is beating, but it’s just pain and scars coursing through her veins.

And she’s also lost her closest friend, the one she used to rely on when things got too bad at home – when she couldn’t trust her own demons to remain inside of her mind. Whenever the fear struck, she had been able to count on Rosa Ortecho – as unimaginable as it might sound, because they come from two different worlds, as apart from each other as the Earth and wherever planet she actually came from – because in the end they’re all the same.

Ripped sails in a sinking ship.

Broken souls.

But now she’s all alone again, because of a petty fight over something that sounded so much as her not wanting to be seen in public with Rosa, and she doesn’t want everything to go down the drain with negative feelings, so she has to do something.

She takes off one afternoon, no one noticing she’s gone. She drives all the way to the Crashdown, and only stops when she sees Rosa outside the diner, uniform in place but antennae askew. A close up look when she gets out of her car lets her know that Rosa has been crying – smudged mascara and puffy eyes. 

She feels a strange pull and all of a sudden she’s in front of Rosa, reaching out and placing her thumb on Rosa’s cheek.

“What’re you doing?” Rosa slurs feebly.

“Why are you so sad?” she asks instead of replying. 

Rosa shrugs, motioning aimlessly around her. And she understands – how she understands – because she’s been feeling the same emptiness inside. 

“Come with me,” she urges, hand trailing down Rosa’s arm until fingers catch a wrist and tug. “Come,” she repeats, and Rosa finally starts moving. She gets them both into her car and drives away into the desert, reminiscent of what Michael told her once, _we’re all made of sand and stars_ , and she’s trying to prove that they can be made of black and shreds.

She pulls up at a spot far enough from town that they won’t be bothered in a long while. She exits her car, waits for Rosa to do the same, and just stares up at the sky asn she leans into the chassis.

Rosa, who has spent the most part of the ride with her nose against the window, is the first to speak up. “It’s beautifully quiet out here.”

“I needed quiet,” she confesses.

“Me too,” Rosa whispers, back against the car by her side. “I hate everything in this town. I wish I could just go away and never come back.”

She closes her eyes at the sheer pain those words reflect. Not for the first time she wishes she could be the one to ease the frown that creases between Rosa’s brows. “Then just do it.”

“I don’t want to go alone,” Rosa sighs. “I want you to come with me.”

She stands up, startled, and looks straight into Rosa’s eyes in search of a truth that she finds overwhelming. “Why?” she simply mutters. “You have Frederico and your other friends to ask. You even have Liz!I have only hurt you time and time again.”

“I know,” Rosa whispers, hands wringling in her lap. “You’re the only one I wanna wake up to.”

And with that she comes undone – the roughness of the words, the empathy hidden behind a long-worn mask – a sob finding its way up her throat. “Me?”

“You,” Rosa deadpans, eyes finally tearing from her feet and looking straight into hers. “Let’s flee together, Isobel,” Rosa insists.

It’s all she needs to hear right now.


	12. be who i am with you ~ Rosabel + "Do you know what today is?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _the sun is about to set on the horizon when isobel pushes the door open at the rooftop of the crashdown café_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [theballetslippertheblackhoodie](http://theballetslippertheblackhoodie.tumblr.com/), who asked for **Rosabel + "Do you know what today is?"**. Enjoy!
> 
> A big thank you to Hannah for her support and her beta-reading. This wouldn't be the same without her!
> 
> Title's a quote from our resident Alien Queen Isobel Evans.

The sun is about to set on the horizon when Isobel pushes the door open at the rooftop of the Crashdown Café. She just needs a breather, a moment of peace to collect herself before the heaviness of the day takes its toll on her. She will go back to the table where Michael is already halfway into getting plastered at five in the afternoon; where Liz is trying her best to look every inch of fake happy and failing spectacularly. Maybe later.

The last rays of sun bathe her pale skin. She closes her eyes against the light and allows her fears to take over for a second, while she shivers in the chill air of an early November evening. At her back, the clash of the metallic door opening and closing startles her back into reality. 

“Is this spot taken?” says the only voice she’s tried to forget unsuccessfully.

“I want to be alone,” she barks back, not opening her eyes. “Do you know what today is?”

Rosa Ortecho flops down besides her and huffs. “Where do I start?” Isobel opens her eyes at her playful tone, and stares straight into dark pupils. “Well, today’s the first anniversary of Noah’s death,” Rosa says crudely. “And it marks a year as well since you all put Max into a pod, or whatever those things are called.”

Isobel shrugs, the memories flooding her as she tries to keep her tears at bay. She fails.

“Also, twelve months since I learned about aliens,” Rosa keeps on, a sad smile dancing on her lips. “I wish I’d have known earlier. It’d have been fun to tease you lot about it.”

“I just feel lost,” Isobel quips, voice thick with tears and rough with emotion. “Without Max, everything’s falling apart. Have you seen Michael?” Rosa makes a disapproving _tsktsk_ sound with her tongue pressed against her teeth. Of course everyone’s seen Michael and the self-destructing spiral he’s trapped into. “We used to be a family, and now I can’t even step into his mind without feeling like he wants to tear everything into shreds.”

“I know exactly how you feel,” Rosa says softly, a hand creeping up to take Isobel’s, but the blonde looks at her bewildered and flinches a way a few inches.

“You can’t possibly know how _I_ feel.”

“Well, if you mean about losing a brother, I can’t because I actually won a brother when I came back,” Rosa doesn’t seem fazed by Isobel’s rejection, fingers still searching for skin. This time, when a hand wraps around hers, Isobel doesn’t recoil. “But you’re forgetting a small bit of information here, Isobel. I came _back_. From the dead. After ten _years_. Max brought me back, and the price he had to pay for that was too high. For all of you.” Rosa stops to inhale deeply, breathing through her nostrils. “I understand that living in a world without your twin brother must feel like walking around in a maze with no light and under the rain. But I’ve had to learn how to live in a world that’s ten years beyond me, my younger sister is no longer little, and my papa doesn’t know I’m _me_. I’ve been lying to him consciously for a year now, about being the daughter of my mom’s long lost sister.”

Isobel feels the hand in hers tightening and she clings to the touch. 

“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, because it won’t,” Rosa continues, fueled by Isobel’s gaze on her. “This is going to hurt a lot before it gets better. What I’m saying, _señorita_ , is that we are together now. We’re not alone anymore. We can fight together and bite our fates back with all we’ve got.”

Isobel tears her eyes apart from Rosa’s and she stares into the horizon, sun sinking into the mountains reflecting rays of light in her golden locks. “We’re not alone,” she repeats. Maybe if she lies to herself enough she’ll be able to make believe for everyone else.

“Your brother needs help,” Rosa admits. “But we can help him. He can get over this,” she promises. “I did, and if I could, he can too. You’ll see.”

“Still, there are so many things.”

“We’ll fight them together, you’ll see. But for now, we can just sit here and relax a bit,” Rosa suggests.

Isobel nods curly, her eyes trained to the horizon but her hand squeezes Rosa’s, taking it to her lap to cover it with her right hand, free and trembling. They stay together, sat against the sign, just breathing, until night falls fully and the cold settles, forcing them to face the world once again.

They hold hands all the way down to the café.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _señorita_ ~ missy


	13. i never look away (not really) ~ Malex! (Sitting in a tree)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _it’s the soft sound of a guitar playing what guides michael to a hidden spot in loveless park_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for an anonymous prompt over at tumblr: _#33 for Malex! (Sitting in a tree) -- I cannot help but notice we are sitting-in-a-tree. So, you know, maybe we could think of something to do… verb-wise. (I want us to gerund, essentially.)_. I had so much fun writing this, even if it took me so long to actually get to finish it.
> 
> I own nothing except my mistakes. As you may actually have noticed, title is a quote by Michael Guerin himself . I've been waiting for the perfect fic to use it, and I think this is it.
> 
> Big shout out to [estel_willow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estel_willow) for her patience in proofreading everything I send her way.

It’s the soft sound of a guitar playing what guides Michael to a hidden spot in Loveless Park. He’s parked his truck outside the main entrance, looking for a nice walk with the sun setting before trying to find somewhere to spend the night, preferably under the stars. He’s halfway through one of the trails when he hears a tune that compels him to break his step and wander into the wild.

There’s a silhouette crouched over a guitar, slender fingers sliding over the strings, one long leg propped against the roots of a large tree, the other bent beneath the smooth wooden guitar. Michael takes a few steps in the direction of the music, and when there’s a voice singing to join the tune, he falters, leaning against a nearby tree for balance. He would have recognized that silhouette, that voice, and those hands _anywhere_. The hair spiked in every direction, the eyes that close when the chorus hits a high note, soul lost in the melody. Michael moves on wobbly legs and finally finds a spot to sit down beside the musician, back against the root, head resting on the trunk.

When the music stops, he speaks up, “I’ve missed your voice.”

“I’ve missed music,” Alex says, rubbing his eyes. “I’ve missed this so much.”

Michael smiles slowly, ducking his head until he’s facing Alex. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I’m glad to be back, too.”

They stare at each other in silence. Michael can’t read Alex’s eyes anymore, they’re closed off and guarded, as though Alex is bearing the secrets of the whole universe – and shouldn’t that be Michael, instead. He lets his mind wander as his eyes roam over Alex’s external looks, tight black jeans and white sweater underneath a leather jacket that seems fitted for him. There are so many questions Michael would _kill_ to ask – when and how and why and for how long, but he just stares in deep silence, allowing the good memories mingle with the bad ones, soul screaming for something he knows he doesn’t have a right to have anymore.

He remembers the day after the night that changed everything – he remembers the blood and the fear. He remembers coming home to another place. He remembers the thunder coursing through his veins, dragging his life out of him. He remembers the turquoise mines, the rides back and forth, the sacrifices to get Max back. He remembers the clash of teeth on teeth and skin on skin, a blessing and a curse. He remembers the argument and the veiled threat looming over their heads. He remembers the tears, the broken promises that remained when not even his scars would. He remembers the pain of tail lights glaring at him as he watched the car driving away from Roswell, from _him_. He remembers the voices, the yells, the whispers and the vicious circle of acetone and alcohol. He remembers being detached from everything and everyone, only kept together by a tiny thread of hope that shone through his blackened soul. That one day, he would be whole again. That one day, he’d look into black eyes again. That one day, he’d be able to say what he’d always wanted to say, fearless, hopeful.

Free.

Instead of speaking, he lets his feelings burst out of him, surrounding them, reaching out to Alex. From the surprised gasp that leaves his lips, Alex wasn’t expecting to be hit by them. “What- How?” he barely manages to ask.

“You’ve been gone for far too long,” Michael says in his mind. He’s fully disembodied, mind and soul free roaming the space and latching onto the seams of Alex’s consciousness. “There’s lots of things that have changed.”

“Have you?” Alex questions, still using his voice. Michael smiles. He’s anticipated this question. This time, he’s ready for the answer. He’s ready for the fall.

He’s ready for _forever_.

Michael exhales, a wave of emotions drilling from his self towards Alex, a halo of pinks and purples and bright whites. He bears witness to Alex understanding the truth of what he’s showing – the feelings he’s been suppressing, the fears he’s had, the need to be better, to become someone with a future instead of a past. He also shows Alex the endless nights at the Pony, the bottomless bottles, the stumbling steps and the faltering hiccups. 

Michael bares himself for the first time in his whole life – a naked truth hidden beneath layers of pretenses, finally freed.

The pull between them is impossible to avoid, a magnet forcing them to hover over one another. Alex is so close that Michael can smell the hint of mint in his breath. He keeps his eyes open as he leans in, as he feels Alex invading the space between them, completing him in a way he hadn’t known he needed to be. Together, they’re a whole made of halves that try their best to walk through the remnants of a wreck that was eons in the making.

Made of pieces that want to be together, melted and burned and seamed into a perfect shape of love and hope and trust.

As if the past never happened. As if the present is just an illusion created by a kaleidoscope of glass and metal. As if the future will only exist so long as they keep dancing to the music their hearts have been playing for over a decade.

Just when their lips are about to meet, Alex halts, snickering lightly. “You do realize we’re kinda sitting on a tree, right?”

Michael laughs, eliciting laughter from Alex as well, a sound that collides with Michael’s feelings and makes them burst into light and thunder covering them. He pushes forward, and touches Alex’s lips. Starved, famished.

And now forever whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Loveless Park](https://roswell-nm.gov/Facilities/Facility/Details/Loveless-Park-22) really exists in Roswell, or so Google tells me.


	14. she wants to be this big adventurer ~ “I love you, please don’t go.” + “I won’t lose you too.” + Rosabel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _rosa’s finished getting her bags into the trunk of the second-hand car she just bought off sanders with money borrowed from Liz when she hears the_ tiptiptip _of heels behind her_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [theballetslippertheblackhoodie](http://theballetslippertheblackhoodie.tumblr.com/), who asked for **“I love you, please don’t go.” + “I won’t lose you too.” for Rosabel**. Enjoy!
> 
> Hannah, as always, is responsible for this being readable. This wouldn't be the same without her!
> 
> Title's a quote from the one and only Rosa Ortecho (thanks to Meagn for the heads-up towards the correct episode!)

Rosa’s finished getting her bags into the trunk of the second-hand car she just bought off Sanders with money borrowed from Liz when she hears the _tiptiptip_ of heels behind her. She lets out an irritated sigh and says out loud, “I don’t really want to talk, Isobel.”

“Do you really have to go?” comes the retaliation in the form of an unsure question. Without turning around, Rosa can picture that frown marring beautiful features. 

“I need to,” she says, hand reaching out to close the trunk. “I need to get away. There’s nothing left for me around here.” She finally turns to face Isobel Evans, tall and mighty, sporting what Rosa can only describe as worried look in her blue eyes.

“You have your family,” Isobel says, and Rosa hears the words unspoken in her speech, _at least you have a sister and a brother and a father who love you and cherish you and don’t mind you are different_. She doesn’t want to acknowledge them, not yet. Maybe never.

“I’m still stuck at nineteen when I should be almost thirty!” she cries out in frustration. “I know Papa understands now, and Liz and Kyle have been so supportive, but I don’t think I belong here. Before everything-” she gestures vaguely, gaze averted from Isobel’s. “Before, I had been planning on going away for a while, maybe get clean and learn who I was. Now-now, I’m thinking it’s the only option I’ve got.”

Isobel recoils at her words as if Rosa has slapped her. She looks pale, and from where she’s standing Rosa thinks Isobel might puke any moment. Belatedly, Rosa realizes these weren’t the words Isobel needed to hear from anyone – least of all Rosa herself. “Sorry,” she tries to amend. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay, you know?” Isobel laughs humorlessly. “Everyone leaves these days, everyone lies. It’s poetic justice, after all. All those years ago, it was _me_ who lied and manipulated and killed.”

“I know it wasn’t you,” Rosa wants to approach Isobel, but the blonde takes a step backwards when she moves forward. “I know you didn’t kill me. It was Noah, all along. Everything was on him.”

“Not everything,” Isobel mutters, looking away. Her hand shoots up to comb through her disheveled ponytail, and Rose fights the need to take her in her arms and hug her fears and distress away. “Not everything was on him.”

“How come?” Rosa says in disbelief. Nobody has ever shown any kind of interest in her that wasn’t fueled by the greed of getting high or getting into her pants. This is new to her as well.

“I have lost Noah, I might have lost Max as well,” Isobel has tears in her eyes, threatening to break through the damp wall she’s put in front of her soul so no one can hurt her. But Rosa sees right through her defenses, and what she sees is making her sick. “I won’t lose you too.”

There’s raw feelings and a sense of possessiveness in Isobel’s words, in the way she laces her speech with a fake snarl that breaks at the seams of what she undoubtedly thinks it’s a good lie. Rosa smiles despite herself; she hasn’t been aware of how much she needed to hear those words until they left Isobel’s lips in a wheeze of truth and pain.

“I won’t be gone for long,” she promises. “I’ll be back before you know it. You’ll see.”

“Please don’t go,” Isobel whispers.

“Why should I stay?” And Rosa wishes for Isobel to be brave, to acknowledge the dance they’ve been doing these past months, around each other and among the rest; a dance that speaks of longing and belonging. “Give me just one reason.”

She can tell the exact moment realization dawns on Isobel – that she’s leaving unless Isobel gives her a good reason, a valid reason. The _truth_ , a feeling, a promise. She can tell the exact moment when Isobel’s jaw sets and she leans forward an inch, almost imperceptible.

She can tell because Isobel’s almost on her, crowding her against the car, her calves hitting metal. “Give me a reason,” she challenges again, wetting her lips and bracing herself for the fall.

Isobel hesitates just a second before placing her hands on both sides of Rosa’s face, inching forward dramatically. “I love you,” she whispers. “I love you, please don’t go.”

Rosa surges forward, captures lips with her bare teeth, licking, biting, tugging, _kissing_. When Isobel kisses back, she thinks that maybe she can find all the answers if she stays in Roswell, anyway.


	15. you do run hot ~ Malex +"You’re really hot, shame about the personality"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“you’re really hot,” she says, sliding her hand over his arm, up to his shoulder_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [manesalex](http://manesalex.tumblr.com/) who requested **_Fluff: 17. “You’re really hot, shame about the personality”_** over at tumblr.

“You’re really hot,” she says, sliding her hand over his arm, up to his shoulder. 

“Sorry, not interested,” he replies, trying his best to school his features and give her a blank stare. She doesn’t take the hint, for her fingers are once again crawling up his arm. “I said, _not interested_.”

“We could have a great time,” she insists. Michael isn’t sure if she’s just inebriated enough not to understand the basics of the English language, or if she’s just being stubborn. Maybe she’s lost a bet. “Just you and I,” she keeps going. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Not drinking,” he sighs. It’s been three years since he last drank anything that wasn’t soda or water. He’s not about to allow his mark to start from zero once again. “And still not interested.”

“Have you seen what I have to offer?” she pulls back and sways a little, her cleavage in full display. Inebriated, Michael decides. 

"Still not interested, ma'am," he replies carefully. "I am already taken. Should I call you a cab?" he offers, seeing as she looks a little unsteady on the stool when she tries to sit back. 

"You’re really hot," she repeats. "Shame the personality. You have terrible bedside manners." 

Michael chuckles as she stumbles her way back into the crowd. Maria shows up by his side, jacket already hugging her shoulders. "What was all that about?" she asks, kissing his cheek affectionately. 

"You should keep an eye on how much people drinks here," he jokes. "She seems to think I am hot although with a shitty personality." 

"She didn't take well you rejecting her," Maria laughs as she leads the way outside of the Wild Pony, Michael hot on her heels. "Should I tell this to Alex?" 

"Tell me what?" comes Alex’s voice. He's waiting for them in the parking lot, tight jeans and blue sweater, as he leans into his Jeep. "Michael has a new admirer?" 

The three of them laugh heartily when Michael nods seriously. "She said I was hot." 

"You do run hot, darling," Alex flirts. Michael blushes and Maria simply shakes her head. "C'mon, cowboy, let's take Maria home, and then I'll show you just how _hot_ you really are." 

"Please, Guerin, make sure to have my truck fixed by tomorrow," Maria says, faking a gag. "I don't think I can stomach any more displays of unadulterated sugar." 

They climb into the Jeep joking, Maria on the back seat, Michael riding shotgun, and they spend the whole trip to Maria's apartment laughing, Michael's hand on top of Alex’s where his fingers gripped the steering wheel.


	16. everything that happens to you happens to me ~ Malex + Soulmates AU "You can sense when your soulmate is in distress"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _the first time it happens, Michael is seven, fresh out of a pod and into an unwelcoming new planet he doesn’t know a thing about_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [manesalex](http://manesalex.tumblr.com/) who requested **_Soulmates AU: 17. You can sense when your soulmate is in distress_** over at tumblr.

The first time it happens, Michael is seven, fresh out of a pod and into an unwelcoming new planet he doesn’t know a thing about. He blames the dread pooling in his gut to the fear of being somewhere he doesn’t recognize. Before he can think about it any longer, he spots his siblings and they begin a journey that keeps them apart for so many years that it feels like home when he finally comes back to Roswell.

Throughout the years he spends bouncing from foster home to foster home, with stays at group homes in between, Michael still feels sadness and fear and physical pain even when he’s not being beaten, but he chalks it up to stress and trauma although he’s too young to actually know those are a thing. He just keeps going forward, one step closer to his siblings within each passing day. He tells himself that he will survive if only he focuses on not being discovered, on hiding his ability to move stuff with his mind, just one more time, just another day, another week, another _month_ , dragging himself through the motions for as long as it takes to find Max and Isobel again.

The pain doesn’t ever leave him.

Michael is seventeen when he understands. It’s some sort of awakening for him, the moment he realizes what’s been going on. He's outside the venue where prom is raging wild when Alex Manes storms out, huffing and fuming. Valenti follows suit, cohorts only one step behind, and Michael can feel the rising bile, the fear, the distress. When fists connect with skin and his own face burns at the contact, Michael knows. He isn’t surprised in the least, but he would be lying if he'd say he isn’t afraid. 

They always thought aliens didn't have soulmates. And yet he's been feeling everything Alex has gone through; his heart sinks at the thought of his own pain piling on top of Alex’s suffering, an ache he doesn’t begin to comprehend but that has been present in his life from the very first moment he's been conscious on Earth. 

After the tool shed, after Alex enlists, Michael asks Isobel to help him set up defenses in his mind to try and keep external feelings out of his system. He isn’t sure he could survive another blow like feeling the hand of the monster closing in around his own throat. 

It works, mostly. Michael spends nine years in blissful ignorance, both due to Isobel's walls and because of the amount of alcohol and acetone he drowns in every night. He's numb, so when one morning he collapses against the good of the Jaguar he's working on, he freaks out. Michael hasn't felt anything that wasn't his for the longest time. The burning in his right leg is unbearable, and the mourning and feverish need that follow the pain are just engraved in his soul. 

The walls crumble when he sees Alex, alive but not in one piece, with an eviction notice; when they kiss at the reunion and they bare their souls and their bodies in the Airstream. Michael wails all the way back home from the drive-in from his own heartbreak and Alex’s despair; he feels like tugging at his own curls before realizing it’s not his desperation building up.

Caulfield proves that they can be both miserable liars. 

Michael doesn’t care anymore about anything. He just crashes and burns with his grief and Alex’s pain for him, fire consuming him from inside out, until all that’s left of him is a vacant shell of someone he used to be. They stand in the middle of the mess they’ve made of their own hearts, in the wake of Noah and Rosa and Max and the decisions they’ve both made. They look at each other under the shadow of Maria’s silhouette hanging over them like the sword of Damocles. They turn their backs on each other, but the walls never come up again, and Michael feels everything through the haze of acetone and alcohol that’s now his permanent state of mind.

He never stops feeling. It grows more intense, becoming almost unbearable, the shredding pain coursing through his veins even when he’s numb from getting high. It takes him a while until he notices the grief isn’t his. Until he finds out that the thought of self destruction and belittling don’t belong to him.

His own spiral is only feeding Alex’s breakdown. And Alex keeps trying to fight him, to push him away from his mind and his soul; Michael can feel the taletelling psychic shove whenever he prods at their invisible connection.

Michael doesn’t know what to do. He’s lost. Until one day, exhausted, mad at himself, not really distinguishing whether his feelings are his or Alex’s, he throws away every single bottle of booze and nail polish remover he can find in his trailer and grabs the keys to his battered Chevy. He drives all the way to Alex’s cabin following the directions his own heart is giving him, trailing back from the intensity of his own feelings, and finds Alex sitting on his porch, head in his hands, trembling.

Looking like the mess Michael is feeling.

“Let me in,” he whispers when he crouches next to Alex, not even caring about the mud on the floor. He reaches out and places a hand on Alex’s neck, a caress that makes Alex look up straight into Michael’s eyes. Michael gulps. “I know I’ve messed up, but this is just killing us. It’s killing you. Let me _in_.”

Alex has to see the sincerity in Michael’s eyes, for he just nods and leans into the touch.

The pain recedes, and there’s a small thread of hope trying to shine through the darkness.


	17. say what i want to say ~ Malex + Sometimes I just can’t control myself when around you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _they have been trying being friends for months now_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [manesalex](http://manesalex.tumblr.com/) who requested **_FLUFF 33. "Sometimes I just can’t control myself when around you.”_** over at tumblr.

They have been trying being friends for months now. They have gone out on group dates, sharing fries over too sugary milkshakes at the Crashdown under Arturo's attentive stare. They have been working together on dismantling Project Shepherd after their daily jobs, Sanders not caring for Michael's work hours so far as he keeps fixing cars, Alex’s job being less demanding since he could do it from wherever he was. 

They have been dancing around their issues for weeks on end while they learned each other in ways they couldn’t when they were younger. They now know about favorite flavors for milkshakes, about go-to comfort food, about lucky colors and worst memories. They have walked together down the self-destructive lane and have come out alive although not unscathed. They are ready for the next step, for a stroll under the stars, for holding hands, for whispered truth against molten skin. 

For some reason, Michael keeps holding back, and Alex has had enough. 

He decides he can't take it anymore one Friday night in his cabin, while he's chopping some vegetables for the informal dinner the group is having there this week. They've been gathering together one night every week, each time in a different house, ever since Max came back. It's Alex’s turn to host, and Michael has come earlier to help him. While Alex appreciates his best friend waltzing around his kitchen, pots and pans clattering around in the air, he's about to lose it. 

"So I am your best friend," Michael smirks at him over his shoulder, from the spot where he’s washing some dishes he's used. "I thought it was Valenti." 

Alex blushes violently. He hadn't realized he'd talked out loud, and that makes him wonder what else he's spilled unknowingly. "I didn't mean to say that out loud. Sometimes I just can’t control myself when around you." He would kick himself if he could, Alex decides. Today it seems he has no filters around Michael, and it's unnerving him because he's tried so hard to keep his cool with him. Alex can't afford to lose Michael as a friend because he can't shut his mouth about how he feels. 

"And how do you feel?" Michael asks, turning around to face Alex, the two of them alone in the cabin. 

Shit. 

"Michael, I-" he stutters, fidgeting with the knife in his hands. "I don't know what's gotten into me. Sorry." 

"You've called me _Michael_ ," And there's awe and something Alex can't put a finger on in Michael's voice, in his hazel eyes as Michael stares openly at him. 

"I just-" Alex shakes his head to clear it. "I need to go." 

He flees from the kitchen into the bathroom, and only when he's locked himself in does he realize he's running from his feelings in his own house. Footsteps follow him; there's a shadow outside the closed door, and then Michael is talking. "Alex? " he calls out. "Alex, please, open the door." 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, startled to find out his voice is quivering; he angrily wipes the tears that have begun trailing down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-I've fucked up, haven't I?" 

"Alex, could you please open the door?" Michael asks again. Belatedly Alex realizes Michael can open the door himself; he's not asking Alex to do so, he's asking for Alex's consent. 

He reaches out and unlocks the door. Michael pushes it slightly open, peeking inside with concern in his eyes. "Alex, what’s going on?" 

"Just forget it," he says, frowning at himself. He's surely making a fool of himself today, after so many months of succeeding in not fucking up. 

"I don't want to," Michael confesses, opening the door wider. "It takes all my willpower not to lose control around you, too." Alex just stares at him agape, lost for words, as Michael dares to lift a hand to Alex's neck, pulling him gently in until their foreheads are touching. "I can't believe you still feel the same, after everything." 

Alex lets out a wet laugh that could turn into a sob, but Michael's lunging forward and swallows the sound in a kiss that leaves Alex breathless and lightheaded. 

When Isobel and Maria arrive, arms full of groceries, they find Alex and Michael still on the bathroom tiles, holding to each other and laughing quietly as their world makes sense once again.


	18. i would never choose that sweater ~ Malex + wearing each other's clothes please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _isobel doesn’t notice at first_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an anon request over at tumblr, who asked for **Malex + wearing each other's clothes please (:**. Enjoy!
> 
> Title's a quote from the one and only Isobel Evans.

Isobel doesn’t notice at first; the change is so subtle that she looks over it for so long, busy with pampering Max now that he’s back from the dead. One day, she catches a glimpse of red and white in the Airstream, and it surprises her, because Michael doesn’t wear plaid. He dons on his cowboy hat, and his sweaters have seen better days. So, when she sees the shirt, on the floor of the trailer, one early morning she’s come out to kidnap her brother for breakfast, Isobel lifts an elegant eyebrow. 

“What’s this?” she questions softly, picking the shirt with her fingertip. 

“Don’t treat it like that!” Michael replies, snatching the garment from her hand. “It’s mine." 

"No, it’s not,” she retorts, but Michael’s adamant in his words so she lets it be. For once. 

The following week, while out at the Pony for a night of drinks and pool, Isobel notices the red and white plaid on her brother’s shoulders. She’s about to make a snarky remark, ready to make Max and Liz hop into the joke, maybe even Valenti when he arrives from his shift at the hospital, when she realizes something. 

Alex Manes has entered the pub, and is now sitting at the bar nursing a beer, and wearing a worn out, white sweater that Isobel could have recognized anywhere. And it clicks, all of a sudden, and she would berate herself if she hadn’t been in public. 

The first time she saw the plaid, she’d accused Michael of not caring enough about someone to let their secret slip, to risk everything. The first time she saw the sweater, it was dangling from a hanger in one of the busiest shops in Albuquerque. The plaid was Alex’s, and the sweater was the first gift she ever gave Michael. 

Fighting her first instinct to call them out on their bluff, since Michael’s trying to ignore Alex and Alex is focused on his beer, Isobel comes up with an idea. 

“Hey, Manes!” she calls out. Half the bar turns their heads, including Alex who looks at her bewildered and a little embarrassed. “Come over here and join us!" 

"What are you doing, Iz?” Michael hisses at her back. She smiles sweetly. 

“Well, he’s family now, isn’t he?” she whispers conspiratorially. “I mean, you two are exchanging clothes now. Why are you doing so, by the way?" 

"Iz,” he warns her. 

“I want to know!” she exclaims, the music turning out. Her next words resound in the silence. “I just wanna know if clothes are the only thing you’re exchanging with Alex Manes!" 

"Well, Isobel, let me clarify it for you,” she hears Alex say at her back. “Clothes exchange happens when two people share a closet, you see." 

Isobel must be way more tipsy than she thought, because she’s hearing something that can’t be true. She shakes her head to clear it, but Alex has moved even closer to Michael blocking the source of light so she has to squint to see him.

"You mean?" 

But Alex doesn’t reply right away. He stares at Michael for a long second, as though maintaining a conversation with only his eyes, before placing a hand on Michael’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss. 

"Oh,” Isobel says stupidly, finally understanding in her drunken haze what’s going on. “Okay, then. I guess you’re teaming with Michael." 

"Yeah,” Alex laughs. “I’m teaming with Michael." 

Isobel mutters  _welcome to the family_  before hitting a perfect score. 


	19. you are mine ~ Malex + Alex asks Michael not to call him Manes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _michael is well on his way to getting wasted when Alex enters the bar_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an anon request over at tumblr, who asked for **Alex asks Michael not to call him Manes**. Enjoy!
> 
> Title's taken from Tyler's beautiful performance during _13\. Creep_.

Michael is well on his way to getting wasted when Alex enters the bar, fashionably late to the party due to work. He stills for a second in the doorway, taking in the scene unfolding before him. 

He has only seen Michael drinking to celebrate instead of drinking to forget twice before in his life. The first time, they were celebrating their success in bringing Max back to life after seven months and a half of trying, after all the failures and the stress of not knowing what the future held. 

The second time, Alex had just put a golden ring to Michael’s unblemished left hand, promising forever after pronouncing his vows.

“And there he is!” he hears Michael shout, waving at him from his spot at a high table where he’s drinking shots with the friends he’s made of some of the students in his class. “My husband!" 

"You’re wasted, Guerin,” Alex chuckles as he saunters to them, taking in the youth in the faces that stare up at him in a daze of alcohol and awe. Both Michael and himself are a solid ten years older than the rest of the students graduating at MIT. 

“I am,” Michael chirps, leaning in to steal a greeting kiss. “Most definitely." 

"So you are him?” a girl with fiery red hair pipes in, rising her shot glass in a mock toast. “The infamous Alex Manes?" 

Alex inhales deeply as he tries to control his emotions. It’s been a while since he decided to abhor from his family name and his legacy, but it’s proved to be a nightmare to get rid of it while he’s still in the military. Still, he doesn’t like it when anyone uses it. 

"That he is! My Alex Manes!” Michael agrees, patting affectionately Alex’s back before resting his curly head on top of his shoulder, and it’s a testimony of how far gone Michael is because he knows better than to call him  _Manes_  in public. 

“Okay, cowboy, I’m sorry to rain in your parade,” Alex begins tentatively, prodding at the curls tickling his skin. “But I would very much like to give you my graduation gift in private." 

"That sounds like celebratory sex,” Michael whispers to the rest of the table, his voice loud enough to carry through the air. “Sorry, guys, I have someplace to be! See you at the ceremony!" 

Alex waves goodbye to the infuriatingly young peeps and holds Michael’s hand all the way out of the bar and into the rental car, and only lets go of it when he has to drive up to the hotel where he’s staying. Having Michael study in Boston has meant physical distance, and even though Alex always wants to spend the night holding Michael whenever he visita, he surely doesn’t want Michael’s roommate to witness. So, he’s always booked a hotel room, and it’s been a while since the last time he flew up to Boston to do something different from spending a whole weekend holed up there with his husband. 

"Easy there, cowboy,” he instructs and Michael stumbles into the room. “You’re so going to regret it in the morning." 

"Not drunk,” Michael states. He sounds more sober than before; Alex knows that the cool breeze and the ride to the hotel have helped. He counted on it. “Where’s my gift for graduating at MIT?" 

Alex laughs heartily, and takes out an envelope out of his laptop bag. "Here,” he says, pushing the paper towards Michael, who stares at it frowning. 

“I’m getting a paper that says I am an engineer now,” he huffs. “I want celebratory sex, not another paper.” But he takes it nonetheless, opens it with slightly shaky hands. Alex smiles wetly at the way his eyes well up. “What does this mean? Alex?" 

"You once said that there was nothing in your name,” Alex whispers. He is nervous, and he’s forgotten half of the speech he rehearsed. “But there’s a lot to it. There’s family, there’s love, there’s future. And now, there’s much much more.” He smiles. “Would you allow me to be part of it, Michael? Would you stop calling me Manes and start calling me Guerin?" 

He watches as Michael looks from his face to the papers he has already signed for his retirement and his honorable discharge, and the papers that state that he’s already Alex Guerin after the change he asked for. He waits a beat. Two beats. 

Michael throws himself into Alex’s arms, kissing him hard, wet, all the way whispering  _yesyesyes_


	20. you're awake ~ Malex + taking care of a kitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _three days ago, alex’s life had been easy_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an anon request over at tumblr, who asked for **Michael finds a tiny kitten outside his trailer (like seriously tiny, like they have to bottle feed her tiny) and he and Alex have to deal with late night tiny kitten bottlefeeding and general taking-care-of-a-baby-animal stress.**. Enjoy!
> 
> Title's a well-known quote by Alex Manes.

Three days ago, Alex’s life had been easy. He had a job out of the military, he had a house far from the noisy downtown, he had a boyfriend who he loved with all his heart. 

 

Three days ago, Alex had seen how his life turned upside down when Michael Guerin of all people had shown up with a small bundle in his callused hands. 

 

"It's only temporary," Michael had said, petting the bundle and lifting the fabric to show Alex a tiny kitten, eyes still closed, whiny and shaky. "Someone left this beauty behind, threw her away like rubbish." 

 

He had sounded so infuriated, so utterly upset that the kitten with white stripes in her otherwise all black fur, that Alex hadn't had the heart to deny him anything. 

 

And that's how Alex has found himself in his current predicament, at two thirty in the morning, sitting awkwardly by the edge of the bunk in the Airstream, with the kitten in one hand and a bottle in the other, trying his best not to drop any of them. His attempts to mask a sneeze are fruitless, and as soon as the kitten begins sucking on the bottle, Alex can't stop himself. 

 

It's loud enough to wake Michael up; Alex sighs. It was Michael’s turn to feed the kitten not even two hours ago. "I'm sorry," he mutters, not letting go of the kitten. "Didn't want to wake you up." 

 

"I was awake," Michael whispers. He rubs his hand over his eyes and tries to disguise a yawn. 

 

"You weren't, Guerin," Alex laughs softly. "I could hear your snores." 

 

The kitten purrs loudly, the vibration clear through the touch Alex shares with her. He smiles and pets her, knowing he'll have a rash in the morning he will most probably not be able to hide. There's a second sneeze building up, but he manages to contain it. 

 

"Alex?" he hears Michael at his back. 

 

"Go back to sleep, Guerin," he instructs in the hopes that his boyfriend will just do as told. It's just his luck, because Michael turns up the lights without touching any switch and Alex's skin is exposed in a way it isn’t when he wears long sleeves during the day. 

 

He knows the redness looks bad, and that if he keeps touching the kittens it will only grow worse and worse until it itches all the time and he can't hide it anymore. 

 

"Alex!" And this time Michael sounds worried. "What's all this?" 

 

"This?" he gestures vaguely at his own frame. The kitten is still sucking on the bottle in his hand. "This is what happens when you're terribly allergic to cats, Guerin." 

 

"You should have told me!" Michael screeches as he sits up, trying to snatch the kitten from Alex's hands. "I wouldn’t have let you… Here, gimme, why would you put yourself through this?" 

 

"Because I love Nova," he replies truthfully, leaning in to bury his nose in the kitten's soft fur. "And because I love you, you moron. You were so thrilled with her, so needing to take her in. I could never deny you anything." 

 

Michael hugs him from behind, placing a kiss on Alex's neck. "Nova, huh?" 

 

"Nova," he assures Michael. They hadn't decided on a name yet, but it suits the kitten. She agrees by purring when they call her by her new name. "Now lemme take care of her." 

 

"But in the morning you'll have-" 

 

"And in the morning," Alex cuts him, twisting in his position to peck Michael on the lips. "In the morning you can apply aloe vera to my skin. It soothes the rash." 

 

Michael nods sleepily, mumbles something about taking in astray kids and falls back into a peaceful slumber. Alex smiles at him, Nova sated in his hand, before he lies down as well. After all, they're both broken pieces of a puzzle that's now complete with the addition of a kitten to their family, even if it means Alex might have to begin taking his allergy meds for the first time since he left Roswell. 

 

Anything for Michael, he decides as he snuggles closer to his boyfriend in the narrow cot. Anything. 


	21. you stayed ~ Malex + trope: arranged marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _michael’s seven when his father brings alex manes to the palace_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an anon request over at tumblr, who asked for **How about two mediaeval princes, who've been arranged to be married almost since birth to seal a political alliance, and what it's like growing up with that knowledge. Them going from children who are strangers, to friends, to, as they grow up, romantic feelings for each other. How they reconcile their genuine feelings for each other from older feelings of being trapped in an arranged marriage since birth.**. Enjoy!
> 
> Title's all Michael Guerin!

Michael’s seven when his father brings Alex Manes to the palace. He’s never been to Earth, but everyone knows what a human visit to the kingdom means. He’s still too young to understand, but that has never deterred his father before. 

Michael learns that he has to marry Alex Manes when they’re both of age, and he decides that no matter what his father believes, he's going to be the first royal member to marry out of love. 

He hates Alex by default. Both Michael’s father and Alex’s, a tall broody human who doesn't seem to know the meaning of the world _smile_ , agree that the boys will spend the summers within each other’s company. When they’re still kids, it’s easy to ignore the fact that they clash every single time. 

They fight and they bicker, they break things and they hide from each other. Michael doesn’t like being told what to do, and Alex is someone he doesn't really need to know. He argues with his father the summer he turns fifteen, but Alex keeps being a fixture in his life during the dry season. 

The summer they turn seventeen, Michael can’t deny that there's something utterly wrong in Alex Manes. The human has yet to call him by his given name, instead preferring to use the family name no one else uses in Antar. And then, he's an obnoxious teenager who wears black and make-up, while Michael is one pristine example of how Antar works – fine robes, perfect curls, excellent education.

Yet, Alex cracks through Michael's shell the day he enters the palace and gives Michael a guitar during the summer when they both turn eighteen. 

Michael’s always been keen on human music. He’s learned everything about it, but he’s never played any instrument. Alex provide him with the opportunity and the guitar lesson he needs, and the summer’s spent among laughter and bonding in a way they have never experienced in the previous decade. 

By fall, when changes come, Michael has to bid farewell to his summer dream and watch as Alex leaves Antar to become a soldier on Earth, following his family legacy. Michael has never been more worried than the months he doesn’t hear from Alex, when all the news from Earth talk about war and desolation. He locks himself up in his room and begins designing a spaceship that could take him to Alex, so he can reassure himself that his human is okay. 

It's then that he realizes that maybe he hasn't hated Alex in a long, long time. 

Alex doesn’t come to Antar for three summers after that. He visits the summer they turn twenty-two, and it takes all of Michael's self-restraint not to lunge towards Alex and cling to him. There's a scar on his right eyebrow, and Michael can’t love him more. 

Love is a foreign feeling, almost alien to Michael. He's fallen for his human, for the kid who stole his toys and stepped on his games. For the person he's supposed to marry by the time he turns thirty. It would be inconvenient, if Michael cared a little about himself. 

But Michael only cares about Alex. 

Oh, if Max knew. If Isobel could see him now. Pining for someone so set on hating him, someone crossing the hall with long strides only to stop in front of Michael. Alex looks at him with wary eyes, unblinking and scared. "I missed you," he says instead of his usual snarky greeting, and Michael chooses a side in the war between his heart and his mind. 

He feels like soaring when Alex kisses him back. 

He doesn't see Alex for two more years, and by the time his ship lands on Antar again, Michael doesn’t think there's much to salvage from their previous encounter. 

The summer they turn twenty-five, Alex drops the bomb that threatens to destroy Michael's life forever. 

"I'll go to war, again. But this time I'm getting through enemy lines." 

"Please," Michael begs, the crowning room suddenly too small and suffocating. "You don't have to do it. You're going to marry me, you don't need to-" 

"This is the way it's been for centuries, Guerin," Alex explains, pushing his frame off the wall and walking toward the open window. "My kingdom protects yours, and to show gratitude your Kings choose one of us to marry your Princes." The words sound devoid of any emotion, and Michael just wants to break something. "In our time, it’s you and me. It means I have to fulfill my duties, and you have to fulfill yours."

"I can't sit here waiting for some of your soldiers to bring me the news that my fiancé is dead on the battlefield," Michael despairs. He doesn’t care if he’s being too open, too sensitive, too _human_. His father has spent half his life trying to make him behave like a normal Antarian – expressive eyes, open mind and raw feelings. Michael never thought those could be useful traits for the King he was supposed to become. 

How wrong he's been. 

"I won't die out there," Alex promises, but his back is still the only part of him Michael can see. "I've been to war two times before, Guerin. I will survive." 

"I don't want you to _survive_. I want you to _live_ , with me, here at the palace."

"What are you asking of me, Guerin?" Alex chooses that moment to turn around, the very exact second that has Michael surging forward, catching Alex's lapels with clumsy fingers, foreheads touching slightly. 

"Come back to me, Alex," Michael pleads. "Promise me you'll come back home. To me." 

"I will," Alex promises. "I will come back to you. You are my home, _Michael_. You are my family." 

They wait for the sunrise to chase the shadows away, swaying in place, hands on top of hands, as they breathe the same air and feel the same fears. 

As they share the same love, finally.


	22. too far from roswell ~ liz & michael

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _there’s a second between the moment when she opens her eyes and the moment when the light really hits her irises that liz isn’t sure where she is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr as part of the [Random Title Meme](https://lire-casander.tumblr.com/post/188522834596/send-me-a-made-up-fic-title-and-ill-tell-you-what). You can go over at tumblr and drop me a title. I'll try my best to come up with a ficlet about it.
> 
> For this, the title I was given was Too Far From Roswell, by asexual-isobel-evans
> 
> Warnings include: **character death as per canon** , **mild angst** and **(unexpected) pregnancy**. Featuring just Liz & Michael.

There’s a second between the moment when she opens her eyes and the moment when the light really hits her irises that Liz isn’t sure where she is. Then, memories flood her and the uneasy feeling that has followed her all the way settles deep down in her stomach, where she can feel a war brewing between the nerves that have been overriding her and the need to puke every now and then. Travel sickness, they said. It looks more like travel hell to her, these days.

Her right hand shoots up to her temple in an attempt to relieve a bit of the stress, but it’s to no avail. She sits up on the makeshift bunk where she’s been lying, her legs swinging back down on the floor, and she sighs audibly.

“What’s wrong, Liz?” she hears at her back. With a sigh, she turns around and locks her gaze to the bottomless hazel that’s staring back at her. “I thought you’d be sleeping at least for a couple hours.”

She shrugs. She doesn’t feel like talking, although there are tons of things to say, so many questions that need answers, so many plans that should have been thoroughly thought but weren’t. “I don’t know,” she replies. “Everything just feels odd.” Michael laughs at her, but it’s a mirthless sound.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he assures her, reaching out and tucking one stray black lock behind her ear. “You should try to rest a bit more. Please. It’ll do you some good.”

She knows Michael never begs, and that’s why this time it feels so important to actually do as he tells her to. Liz shrugs again – she knows she won’t be able to sleep a wink, but Michael’s right. She needs to at least be horizontal for a while. There’s bile rising up in her throat, and the nausea is threatening to overtake her. “Fine,” she concedes. She’s so tired that she doesn’t even think about of batting away his hand when Michael helps her to lie down. “But you know I won’t be able to sleep.”

“I know,” he mutters. The duvet covers her without Michael touching it as she turns on her side and faces the pod that’s ever present in the middle of the space, with Max floating inside like an ethereal god trapped in between eons. Behind him, the glass windows show the endless galaxies ahead of them, stars and nebulae colliding into supernovas every now and then. Liz places one hand on her rounded abdomen, feeling the movement underneath her skin, the kicking and the sliding that took her by surprise seven months ago. Almost unwillingly, she allows her eyes to flutter closed.

Maybe there’ll be answers for them soon enough. Maybe the next galaxy will hold all the solutions for everything that’s happened to them. Maybe there’s a universe where they can help Max come back to life. But for now, all they can do is run, run, run, until they’ve run out of time, out of planets, out of questions.

Until all they have is answers and time.


	23. every man's a vulture fit to feed ~ malex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _the sounds follow him outside the wild pony even through the closed door_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr as part of the [Random Title Meme](https://lire-casander.tumblr.com/post/188522834596/send-me-a-made-up-fic-title-and-ill-tell-you-what). You can go over at tumblr and drop me a title. I'll try my best to come up with a ficlet about it.
> 
> For this, the title I was given was Every Man's A Vulture Fit To Feed, by [lostin_space](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostin_space)
> 
> Warnings include: **hurt/comfort** , **angst** and **depiction of a panic attack**. Malex

The sounds follow him outside the Wild Pony even through the closed door. He heaves a sigh as he collapses against the wall, his head hitting the bricks with an awful cracking noise his ears doesn’t register at all. He’s hurting much more inside than whatever pain he could inflict on his skull.

There isn’t enough air outside for him to breathe. He can feel a panic attack building up, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. The images of what he has just witnessed aren’t helping him focus – in fact, they’re only speeding up the process of finding himself choking on thin air.

He doesn’t want to think about what’s going on inside the bar; he doesn’t want to dwell on the fact that Alex is there, flirting and being hit on by a stranger who looks like he’s been on a hunt and Alex is his prey. The predatory look on the stranger’s eyes anytime he gazes at Alex is enough to make  _his_  skin prickle all over. He can feel his breathing coming out ragged, and the panic effectively bubbles up in his throat, making him gag and gasp for air. His vision is suddenly blurred, his hands – the unblemished skin on his left a hard contrast against the calloused fingers on his right – shake as though he’s been touching ice and snow gloveless. He can’t drive himself away from the parking lot, away from the pain, away from Alex. Not in this state; not when he could be thrown into the drunk tank even though it’s been months since the last time he tasted a drop of alcohol. He’s trembling.

The door opens again, and there’s a rustle of fabric he doesn’t quite place, he’s so gone in his own world. Images of Alex pliant underneath the stranger – because of course he knows how Alex looks like, sweaty and willing and open – and images of Alex kissing and biting and nipping someone who isn’t  _him_  are making him lose it so fast he feels like he’s been hit by a freight train.

“Guerin?” he hears, and that’s great because he now is having hallucinations with Alex’s voice, a whisper that pitches when Alex – when  _fake_  Alex, that is – seems to realize what’s going on. “Hey, hey, here, c’mon, breathe with me,” he commands, leaning in until all he can see is Alex’s face framed in his line of vision. The warmth of the hand cupping his cheeks is definitely not a dream. “Michael,” Alex whispers. “Michael, you have to breathe along with me. C’mon, try it.”

He can’t.

“Michael,” Alex’s voice is more pressing, eyes searching his face, fingers caressing his skin. “You have to focus. You’re having a panic attack, and if you don’t start breathing evenly, this is going to be harder than it is right now.”

“No,” he manages to grit out, breaking apart from Alex’s touch even though all he wants to do is bask in it. “I’m fine. Go back inside.” He would be proud of himself if his voice hadn’t quivered as he spoke. “Go back to  _him_.” He briefly remembers there was a trick to dampen the effects of a panic attack – something about things to see and things to touch and things to feel – but he’s too far gone and all he can see is Alex’s dark chocolate eyes, round and worried, filling every single blinking spot in front of him.

“This is all for Forest, I see,” Alex muses softly, and then, “Guerin,” and this time it’s affectionate and somewhat amused. “Try breathing, okay?” Alex keeps his hand on skin, warm and safe and grounding in a way he’s never felt, and he attempts to match Alex’s deliberate breathing until they’re inhaling and exhaling as one. “Better,” Alex smiles softly. “Now, we’re getting you back home and you’re going to sleep for a while. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“But-“

“C’mon, Michael,” Alex urges him, pulling him into his arms. Suddenly he has a handful of Alex, and he doesn’t want to let go. Alex holds onto him as he maneuvers them around and into Alex’s car. He doesn’t have any recollection of the drive back home, he spends the whole time with his eyes closed, but when he opens them it isn’t the junkyard he looks at. It’s a cabin in the woods. Alex’s cabin.

“Lemme take care of you,” Alex whispers as he kills the engine and opens the door of the car. “Lemme help you.”

He nods, half eagerly and half devoid of all energy; it’s a weird mix and he doesn’t understand himself, but there’s nothing to comprehend when Alex’s hand lands on the small of his back and guides him inside of the cabin. There’s a gap between them stepping inside and him being tucked in a king-sized bed, and he doesn’t mind the lack of memories because he hasn’t stopped feeling Alex’s fingers digging into his skin. He feels like a junkie begging for a fix – Alex is his drug and he is shameless when faced with the truth of it all.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Alex promises and he climbs beside him on the same bed, scooting over so they are pressed against one another. “I’ll take care of you.”

And just like that, with the promise of tomorrow lingering between his lips, he drifts off to sleep, nurtured by touch and touch alone, the warmth he needs spreading through his system like a fire.


	24. they're my family ~ Malex + baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _michael wakes up to a wailing baby and an adult hushing him to silence_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for an anon prompt over at tumblr: _au: Alex's brother gets killed in battle and brother's wife is a disaster, so Alex ends up with custody of his brother's 2 1/2-year-old. Michael really steps up to be dad/uncle number 2 to this little bundle of love and energy that is their little nephew. Cute domestic fluff._
> 
> I'm not sure this fits your idea, but I had fun writing it! I tweaked it a bit, and the baby is three months old instead of two years old.
> 
> Warnings for this installment include: **mentions of death, kid!fic, silly attempts at fluff, some angst (did you have any doubts?)**. This is unbeta'ed.

Michael wakes up to a wailing baby and an adult hushing him to silence. He yawns, rolling in bed until his hand lands on the empty space beside him. He frowns, sitting up on the mattress. Alex’s side of the bed is cold; he hasn’t lied down for a long while, and his prosthesis is nowhere to be seen. The crib on Alex’s bedside is equally empty. Michael rubs at his eyes, willing the slumber away, before swinging his legs off the bed and standing up. The wailing doesn’t quiet, so all he has to do is follow the noise to the living room. He stops right before entering, leaning into the door frame as he takes in the scene heʼs come to witness.

Alex is holding his nephew in his arms, the baby fussing and crying as loud as his lungs allow him to. Michael smiles widely when Alex tries to calm the baby by rubbing soothing circles on his back. “Need any help?” he offers, stepping into the room and stretching his arms out. Alex flinches. 

“I wasnʼt expecting you,” he says in a soft voice. The baby stops his cries for a second, looking up with huge blue eyes at Michael. “I didnʼt mean to wake you up.”

“I was alone in bed,” Michael jokes, getting closer to his husband. “I came to see if Jimmy was okay.”

“Just Jimmy?” Alex asks, placing his nephew on his left arm to relieve some of the pressure on his right side. Taking care of a three-month-old baby has proved to be tougher than surviving the desert, in his opinion. 

“Well, it was him who was crying,” Michael continues, making grabby hands gestures to Alex until he places Jimmy on his arms. “You look like you could use some sleep, honey.” 

“You have work first thing in the morning,” Alex protests faintly. He sits on the couch, patting a spot next to him so Michael complies. 

“I will call Sanders,” Michael offers. “This is more important. Do you know why heʼs crying?” He cradles the baby closer to his chest, rocking back and forth until Jimmy calms down and his wails are reduce to lower whines. 

“Heʼs fed, heʼs clean, I just donʼt know,” Alex whispers in despair. “I think he misses his mom. Or maybe he doesn’t like me at all.” 

“Oh, Alex,” Michael says in an admonishing tone. “He doesn’t like me best,” he explains. “I just run hotter than you.” 

“Hey, stop stealing my lines!” Alex complains, but itʼs a muttered, yawning protest. 

“Why donʼt we go back to bed?” Michael suggests, barely ten minutes later, when Jimmy seems to have calmed enough. “He can stay with us in bed. I promise not to squish him,” he adds when Alex gives him a wide-eyed stare. stare. 

Michael makes his way back to bed slowly, with Jimmy already napping against his chest, and lies down on the mattress, his back against the wooden headboard, and waves at Alex with his free hand to rest next to him. Alex obliges, fumbling for a moment with his prosthetic leg until he can place it in its usual spot by the bedside table.

“Thanks,” he whispers sleepily. 

“Anytime,” Michael whispers back, still holding Jimmy close to his chest, and he reaches out for Alex. When his fingers land on his husbandʼs hip, he holds on tight. Michael begins drawing soothing circles on that path of skin as well; he smiles when Alex purrs similarly to Jimmy. It’s evident theyʼre related by blood. 

Michael still remembers the calls, two months and a half ago, consecutive and frightening in the dead of the night. They had been sleeping soundly, Buffy snoring at their feet, when Alex’s cell blared off. Both of them had startled, grasping for their devices as though there was an emergency; Michael had witnessed as Alex answered his phone, he had seen his husband paling and holding his breath as some faceless military police officer talked to him. 

It had to be the worst of news, Michael had felt it, the moment Alex had begun crying. Heʼd tried comforting his husband, placing a hand on his arm, while Alex cried and shook his head and wiped angrily at his cheeks. “Bobbyʼs dead,” heʼd said shakily after hanging up. “My big brotherʼs gone and Maggie–Maggie,” Alex had hiccuped then, Michael bringing his arms around him in a protective fashion. “Maggie has decided it wasnʼt worth it.” 

Michael hadnʼt said a thing – he would find out, later, that Robert Manes had been declared deceased after an ambush somewhere in the Middle East, and that Margaret Manes had chosen to follow him shortly after. Michael had been more worried about the coupleʼs newborn, but he hadnʼt been able to voice his concerns before Alex beat him to it. 

“I’ll be flying out to Chicago to pick Jimmy up, they’ve placed him in a group home,” heʼd said, emotionless. “I know thatʼs what Bobby and Maggie would’ve wanted.” 

Barely a week later, they had found themselves with a handful of baby bags and a wailing James Alexander Manes to take care of, just as his parentsʼ last will stated. 

“They chose me,” Alex had said, when he’d known. “I have to do it.” 

“Then weʼll do it together,” Michael had reassured him with a small smile and a heart full of questions. They hadnʼt been raised by the best parental figures, but Michael knew they could make it. 

“Weʼre a family now,” Michael says, brought back to the present from his memories by Buffy snoring in her crate. “All three of us,” he sings as a lullaby, surrendering to slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [lostin_space](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostin_space) wrote the perfect follow-up oer at her tumblr. You can read it [here](https://spaceskam.tumblr.com/post/189040942514/au-alexs-brother-gets-killed-in-battle-and)


	25. hope is a dangerous thing ~ Malex + candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _when he reaches the cabin, the power hasn’t been restored yet_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt by [aliencurls](aliencruls.tumblr.com): _candles_ , for a microfic meme.
> 
> No warnings for this one.

When he reaches the cabin, the power hasn’t been restored yet. He’s tired, and cranky, and ready to fall into bed and forget the world even exists.

They’ve been trying to bring Max back for three months now, and while it isn’t the longest Michael’s gone without  _feeling_  his brother – memories of the years lost in foster care until he found his way back home flood his mind – Michael can’t shake the feeling that, this time, Max’s presence in the back of his mind might be gone for real.

He opens the door as quietly as he can, kneeling briefly to scratch Buffy behind her ears when she comes to greet him, her paws a resounding  _taptaptap_  on the wooden floors. “Good girl,” he whispers to her before he makes a beeline for the bedroom. Given how late it is, he doesn’t think Alex will be waiting for him, but lately Michael’s allowed himself to believe that he’s, in fact, worth waiting for.

It’s a warm and fuzzy feeling, hope.

Michael tiptoes to the main room, followed by Buffy, and opens the door, expecting complete darkness and a sleeping Alex on the bed, but he’s surprised with a different scenario.

Alex is sitting up on the mattress, book in hand, reading glasses on, a stream of candles peppered along the space. Michael gapes at him when Alex looks up from his book, lifting a finger to mark the last word he’s read. There’s a question in his chocolate eyes that he doesn’t voice – a silent hope that, this time, they’ve made some progress – but instead of talking, Alex simply pats the spot next to him on the bed.

Michael collapses on top of the duvet, too exhausted to even try to get beneath it.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he groans, defeated. “We’ve friend the town’s power generator, and we’re not even closer to find a way to bring him back.”

“You will,” Alex whispers, petting his curls with steady fingers. “I’m sure you will, Michael.”

“How can you be so sure?” Michael peeks out from behind his curls, fallen all over his face. He needs a haircut, he fleetingly thinks.

He needs his brother more.

“You’re too tired to think straight now,” Alex tells him. “You’ll see things differently in the morning.”

“I can’t sleep,” Michael confesses, hiding his face on the pillow, smothering his curls against the soft fabric. “I try to, but I just–can’t.”

“I know,” Alex says as he runs his index fi her up and down Michael’s spine. “That’s why I bought some scent candles.”

Michael lifts his head up enough to frown at his boyfriend. Sure, he’s seen the candles, but he’s thought they were strategically place so Alex could read even without electricity. He hasn’t smelled anything. “Oh,” he says stupidly when a hint of lavender reaches his nostrils. He’s been so focused on his own despair that his senses haven’t registered anything.

“I know lavender reminds you of things you don’t really remember,” Alex explains, an Michael hasn’t been more grateful for him. Alex has been listening carefully to Michael whenever he’s felt the need to break down at how his life is so broken. Michael doesn’t remember anything from his first seven years of life, but from time to time he might run into something that awakens a memory in his mind, a reminder of a life that’s not his any longer.

“Thanks,” he tells Alex, arm sneaking around his boyfriend as Michael scoots closer. He places his head on Alex’s chest, his heart thumping beneath layers of clothes and smooth skin.

“You will find a way,” Alex repeats, his words a lullaby to Michael’s ears. “I know you will.”

“Love you,” Michael mumbles as he allows Alex’s heartbeat to guide him to sleep.

“I love you too, Michael,” and that’s the last thing he hears before be succumbs to exhaustion and falls into a dreamless slumber.


	26. start looking forward ~Malex + overgrown & senseless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _alex finishes pouring lemonade and wine in seven different glasses in his kitchen, and places them on a tray before heading out_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt by [lostin_space](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostin_space) over at tumblr: _Overgrown or Senseless_ , and I went for both.
> 
> There is no warning for this one.

Alex finishes pouring lemonade and wine in seven different glasses in his kitchen, and places them on a tray before heading out. He can hear light conversation outside, peppered by the occasional outburst of laughter and Buffy’s barks now and then. He shakes his head in amusement; even if he can’t partake in all the fun, he rushes to the backyard to see what his friends are up to.

Buffy comes to him the moment he steps on the wooden porch, forcing him to balance the tray on one hand while grabbing the built-in rail for support. His beagle barks happily at him, and she paws at him to follow her, eager to come back to play with the others. Alex grins at her as she promptly forgets about him when Michael calls for her.

“Make room,” he commands as he approaches Isobel and Maria, who are lounging on lawn chairs under the sun, both wearing matching designer sunglasses. “I bring drinks for the thirsty!” he announces. He stops abruptly, though, when his voice catches Michael’s attention and his boyfriend turns around, Buffy mimicking him, to smile at him.

Shirtless and wet from his shenanigans at the pool, Michael is such a vision that he has to think about sad things to keep down his own reaction.

“Alex,” Maria calls him, amused. He shakes his head again to clear it, and starts walking toward them.

“Seems they’re having fun,” he speaks when he reaches them, eyes dancing back to where Michael and Max are trying to get Kyle under the water while Liz splashes them as hard as she can from her spot at the other side of the pool.

“They’re just like overgrown kids,” Isobel says with a small smile on her lips as Alex settles the tray with the drinks on top of the table. “Who would have guessed they’d be  _that_  happy to be playing around in a pool?”

Michael squeals in victory when he manages to push Kyle’s head underwater, and jumps out of the pool before the doctor can retaliate. Alex is distracted once again by his shirtless boyfriend, and his foot bumps into the table leg, causing him to wince and yelp in pain.

“Who would have thought Alex would trip all over himself at the sight of his boyfriend?” Maria jokes. He wants to frown at her, but Michael is approaching them with a worried look in his eyes, Buffy in tow.

“Are you okay, Alex?” he asks, searching Alex’s face for any sign of pain. “I’ve heard you.”

“It’s nothing,” Alex mutters, lost in the hazel staring into his soul. “Just me being clumsy.”

“Oh, I see,” Michael replies, a devious gleam in his expressive eyes. “Lemme kiss it better,” he offers, leaning in and leaving a chaste kiss on Alex’s cheek. Buffy barks happily at their feet, and he can hear Isobel fake gagging. “Better?”

“Not that much,” Alex says coyly. “Maybe you should try harder?”

Michael doesn’t need to be told twice before leaning all the way in and capturing Alex’s lips, kissing him senseless. Alex melts under Michael’s touch, molten and caring and all shades of  _perfect_.

“Go get a room!” he hears Isobel calling out, but he can’t tell her that they’re, in fact, doing so because Michael’s already dragging him back into their cabin.


	27. feels like a crash landing ~ Malex + undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _they barely make it inside the stall and lock the door before they’re back onto each other once again, hands searching and lips exploring, tongues marking up every patch of skin they can find on their quest to relearning each other – moans and groans and sighs and muffled cries become the soundtrack of their little escapade while the rest of the gang is outside, trying to have fun and failing miserably while they remember that max is still in his pod. very much dead. very much alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Tasyfa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tasyfa) for the microfic meme. She prompted me with **Undone**.
> 
>  **Warnings:** angst, mature content

They barely make it inside the stall and lock the door before they’re back onto each other once again, hands searching and lips exploring, tongues marking up every patch of skin they can find on their quest to relearning each other – moans and groans and sighs and muffled cries become the soundtrack of their little escapade while the rest of the gang is outside, trying to have fun and failing miserably while they remember that Max is still in his pod. Very much dead. Very much alone.

Michael has his own ways of coping with the situation; he’s been drinking too much, picking one too many fights, and flirting with too many people. He just wants one single person, but he’s fucked up so royally that he doesn’t feel he deserves a second chance. He sure as hell wouldn’t give himself one.

When he wobbled away from the pool tables to go to the bathroom, he wasn’t expecting Alex to follow suit, grabbing his arm and turning him around. Michael had braced himself for yet another argument – you’re wasting your life,  _Guerin_ ; you’re doing nothing to help Max,  _Guerin_ ; you broke Maria’s heart,  _Guerin_ – but instead he’d been faced with dark eyes boring holes in his skin, and with a word that had turned his world upside down.

“Michael,” Alex had muttered, suddenly too close for comfort, no long out of reach, and Michael couldn’t stop himself.

That’s how they’ve ended up bruising kisses in a stall at the Wild Pony, panting and shaking as they fumble with zippers and shirts and buttons and belts, Michael wanting nothing more than to devour every inch of Alex’s body, Alex pliant under his deft fingers. Michael knows how to play Alex like a fine-tuned guitar – they’ve been together far too long for either of them to have forgotten all of a sudden. He caresses Alex’s side longingly as Alex bites down on his neck to lick and suck on the mark later, and Michael wishes he could sport all the bruises Alex leaves on his skin so everyone knows he’s  _Alex’s_.

Alex’s hand sneaks inside his pants and expert fingers grab him, tugging and squeezing just like he likes; Michael wants to return the favor but he’s way too busy grasping the edges of his own sanity under Alex’s ministrations – his tongue, his fingers, the sounds they both grunt into the void – that he forgets his own name. He can only say  _Alex, Alex, Alex_ , like a mantra, like it’s sacred and worth adoring. And Alex retaliates with his own prayer, whispering  _Michael_  in a way he’s never heard before – as though his name exists only because Alex is speaking it for the first time in their whole lives, calling Michael by it.

Michael feels like he  _is_ only because Alex is touching him.

A tug, a squeeze, a bite and a kiss behind his ear and Michael’s gone, too needy to last any longer, and he comes undone under Alex’s warmth that engulfs him like a blanket. He blacks out for a second, and when he comes back down to Earth – and where else would he want to be, right now – he finds himself alone in the stall, the lingering scent of sex and Alex mixing in his nostrils. Fear and disappointment and anger and embarrassment flare up inside of him, threatening to suffocate him.

He looks down at himself, his own hands inside his own jeans, and the extent of his own hallucination hits him square on the chest. He tries to compose himself, checks his reflection on the mirror before getting back into the bar. He doesn’t look up as he walks past the table where the gang is laughing at some joke; he doesn’t stop when Isobel calls his name.

He flees as fast as he can so he doesn’t have to acknowledge the pity in Alex’s eyes when he looks at him from his spot at the table, between Isobel and Liz.


	28. we are children of the sun, yet we belong to the moon ~ max

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _max has always been a dreamer_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr as part of the [Random Title Meme](https://lire-casander.tumblr.com/post/188522834596/send-me-a-made-up-fic-title-and-ill-tell-you-what). You can go over at tumblr and drop me a title. I'll try my best to come up with a ficlet about it.
> 
> For this, the title I was given was We are children of the sun, yet we belong to the moon, by an anon prompter.
> 
> Warnings include: **angst, Max being his selfish self, hints at Michael’s and Isobel’s spirals, mentions of Noah and mentions of character’s death, character study**. 
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

Max has always been a dreamer. For years after hatching out of the pods – after losing Michael to a horrid foster system – Max often caught himself daydreaming about the stars and the universe. It’s been going on and on for years, ever since that first night on Earth, up until the last time he sets his eyes on a human being before his world fades to black.

There are images ingrained in his memories – a world where everything is white, a galaxy imploding in purples and pinks and oranges before the darkness, the hard bite of steel under his fingers when the child he once was tried to hold onto the seams of the only reality he’d known before the crash.

He can still feel the fading light of knowledge at the back of his mind, prodding gently whenever he dares to embrace his alien side. For the longest time, he’s ignored who he is -  _what_  they all are – but Michael’s attitude and his general distaste for everything human have made Max change his mind. There’s a truth underlying Michael’s hatred, something that calls at Max and turns his insides upside down with  _need_.

They’re different, they’ve always been. The surge of power he feels whenever he heals – whenever he allows his hands to glow red and angry, whenever he takes his fear and his pain out on power grids and electrical systems – that surge of power means the whole world to him. It means more than Liz’s love, more than Isobel’s support or Michael’s presence. Max can’t afford losing his family – he can’t lose Liz or Isobel, and he’s too tired now of not telling Michael that he is, indeed, loved. Michael is someone Max is not going to take for granted anymore.

Somewhere between the night Rosa died and his first sleepover in the drunk tank, Max had let Michael fall through the cracks of their existence, like sand dissolving on a windy day. He, who had prided himself in being the protector of their broken family, had allowed his brother to distance himself from them and become the shell of a man Max now can’t recognize.

He spends his days socializing and searching for a way to help Michael, but he hits a hard wall every time he tries to talk to his brother. There’s no answer from him about the events that led to his mangled hand – chupacabra, accident, bar brawl – but never the truth, never the words that would free Michael’s soul from the vicious grip that’s threatening to squeeze the life out of him. Max suffers when he sees Michael hurting, but there’s nothing he can do when not even Isobel can reach Michael.

Although Max sees himself as a creature of light – not the evil alien all movies picture them to be – he finds peace of mind in the quiet nights he gets to write poetic prose in his neat scrawl, never altered by endless writing sessions at a college he never attended. And it’s in those nights that he finds the strength to realize that their powers make them superior, more important -  _epic_ ,  _cosmic_  - in a way humans will never understand. It’s in the darkest nights when he can’t get a hold of Michael – too busy drowning in alcohol and acetone – or of Isobel – buried in the despair of seeing her life crumble around her – that Max realizes the whole responsibility of becoming  _more_ , of being *bigger*, lies exclusively on his shoulders. So he takes his chance when it presents itself in front of him, in the form of Rosa Ortecho in a pod, kept in the limbo between life and death – not really alive, but not at all dead.

He doesn’t think about his siblings; he hadn’t, when he’d killed Noah and healed Michael’s hand without acknowledging that Michael hadn’t wanted him to. He doesn’t think about Liz; he hadn’t, when he’d so selfishly saved her from a bullet and spewed all their secrets in post-traumatic haze.

Max doesn’t think, he simply acts.

He is a creature of the night, indeed, powerful and dark as the lights explode above him and the world implodes in one, expansive moment.


	29. home can be a person ~ Malex + genderless kid!fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _michael groans as he jumps off the bed and rushes to the narrow bunk settled across the main bedroom in the cabin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for an anon prompt over at tumblr: _2 1/2-year-old in a 5th pod, totally overwhelmed adoptive parents Michael/Alex Auntie and Uncles Max/Liz/Isobel/Cam/Kyle all overwhelmed, finally only Mimi is the one capable of helping, baby saves Mim_ \+ _For the story about the kid in the 5th pod, what do you think of the Roswell aliens only getting a gender when they’re about 7, so the little one is genderless at their age?_
> 
> I have tried my best to write this, but I am still not entirely happy with it. I wasn't sure about how to go with the genderless bit, I hope I did it justice.
> 
> Warnings for this installment include: **Max being a bit of a dick, Alex being a bit of a protective boyfriend, kid!fic (duh)**. The idea of Michael fixing on the pod and the baby is shamelessly taken from [Moirai](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19289791/chapters/45878260) by [lostin_space](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostin_space/pseuds/lostin_space). This is unbeta'ed.

Michael groans as he jumps off the bed and rushes to the narrow bunk settled across the main bedroom in the cabin. The wails are high-pitched and threatening to shatter all the windows in the building, and they can’t afford to repair all that glass  _again_. He rubs his hand over his face in an attempt to stay awake long enough to plaster a smile on his face as he approaches the other bed; the cries subside a little when he’s closer to the safety railing they had to install in order to keep the toddler from toppling over the edge.

He lifts the toddler, who immediately stops crying and lunges forward, trying to fuse skin to skin with Michael. He holds the toddler closer to his chest and swaying slightly. It lasts a grand total of two minutes before the wailing resumes. Michael sighs, almost defeated.

They hadn’t known what they were signing up for when they found that fifth pod hidden in a cave next to Noah’s, holding a baby inside its white light. Michael had felt immediately attached to it in a way that transcended everything else – he couldn’t explain it back then, and certainly can’t explain it now – and he’d set camp in the cave, watching over the pod until the baby had hatched.

Michael had cradled the tiny baby against his chest, allowing his heartbeat to lull the baby into a calm state when everyone had gathered around them, asking and prodding and  _questioning_.

“Who’s going to take care of this baby?” Max had asked, with that tired voice of his that seemed to have latched onto him ever since he came back from the dead.

“Me, of course,” Michael had retaliated, shoulders squared and jaw set.

“How can you, Michael?” Max had pressed on. “You live in a trailer, you have a precarious job to say the least and–”

The baby had started to cry

“Don’t,” Alex had cut Max off, stepping right next to Michael and placing a soothing hand on the baby’s back to calm the cries. “This baby is coming with us.”

“But–”

“No buts,” Alex had said, voice stern. “And I sincerely hope you weren’t about to say what I  _think_  you were about to say.”

Michael sagged against Alex, suddenly too tired. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath all the time while Max had fumbled to point out that Michael was, in fact, unsuitable as a caretaker.

They hadn’t known what they were getting into, but now that Michael knows, he would gladly trade the sleepless nights with Max anytime.

“Maybe Max was right,” he whispers into the toddler’s skin. They haven’t named the alien baby, mainly because they’re not sure whether the baby is a girl or a boy – according to Liz’s research on their DNA, aliens are genderless until they turn six or seven – and it makes Michael uneasy because he wants this toddler to have an identity before turning seven.

“How come Max was right?” comes Alex’s voice in a whisper behind him.

“I’m not fit to take care of babies,” Michael sighs when the toddler starts punching his chest angrily. “This one doesn’t seem to like me that much.”

“They like you alright,” Alex reassures him. He makes grabby hands and Michael allows him to take the toddler. “What do you say, tomorrow we ask Maria to babysit and we take the day to ourselves? You need to unwind. And I don’t think any of the others will want to babysit after the  _accidents_  from last week.”

Michael holds back a snicker at the memory of Max and Liz, Isobel and Kyle, even Cam and Rosa, trembling in fear as they handed their toddler back to them after a whole afternoon of taking care of the baby; the toddler doesn’t control the extent of the powers and has already shattered lightbulbs and mirrors all around town, including all the Crashdown’s windows.

Michael doesn’t say a thing, he just nods before leaning in and kissing Alex’s temple.

The next morning, Maria comes to the cabin with Mimi. “Sorry,” she excuses herself. “I couldn’t–”

“It’s okay,” Michael tells her in a soft voice. Mimi has been slowly falling into a black hole of losing memories, and Maria has taken to spend more time with her mother even if Mimi’s now living in a nursing home, because she doesn’t want to miss the last moments of consciousness she might share with her mother. “Mimi always seems to enjoy it here.”

“Oh, that she does,” Maria agrees. Completely oblivious, Mimi is already cooing and making faces at the toddler. “It’s good for her.”

They turn around to grab their scarves and their coats when there’s a ball of white light that blinds them all. Maria cries out, “Mom!” while Michael and Alex try to reach the toddler.

When the light subsides, Mimi is standing in the middle of their living room with a wide smile and a new gleam in her eyes. “Maria,” she says in a tone that neither of them has heard in a long time. “You’re beautiful.”

“Mom?” Maria asks tentatively, taking a step toward her.

Mimi speaks, clear and loud, and somehow Michael understands what’s happened – Mimi’s words aren’t trampled by shadows and confusion anymore. “Xava has helped me.”

“Who’s Xava?” Alex questions while Michael stumbles forward to take the toddler in his arms.

Mimi points at the toddler. “Xava.”

“This is–”

“Xava’s a healer,” Michael says, marveling in the new situation that unfolds before him. “She’s healed you.”

“Do you remember?” Maria gasps, hugging her mother close to her chest. “Everything?”

“There’s so much I have to tell you,” Mimi says. “So many things, and none of them has anything to do with Will Smith.”

They all laugh wetly, tears laced with bubbling laughter, as Xava smiles at them from a spot on the floor, fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air, creating lines of colorful electricity.


	30. high on hopes and acetone ~ Malex + i can taste sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _michael is high on power and acetone, and he doesn’t want to come down_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Daffietjuh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuchASeeweedBrain) for the silly prompts meme. She prompted me with **I CAN TASTE SOUND!**.

Michael is high on power and acetone, and he doesn’t want to come down. He barely remembers the ride from the caves to this cabin out in the woods, but he doesn’t care. 

“Guerin,” he hears at his left, but heʼs too busy staring into space while the voices in his head tell him to keep searching the room – although he isn’t really sure about what heʼs looking for. 

“Guerin,” he hears again, this time his last name tinged with amusement and the tiniest hint of concern. “I knew we shouldn’t have let you drink that much acetone.” 

Michael turns around and faces Alex, whoʼs looking back at him with his hands on his hips, an indecipherable look in his eyes. “ʼs good,” he slurs. His left hand is lifted on its own volition to his mouth to cover it, muffling the laughter that threatens to spill from his lips. He snickers when Alex takes a step forward and rests a hand on Michael’s forearm. 

“No, it isn’t,” Alex tells him. “But it will be. Soon enough, the effects of the acetone will wear off. Youʼll feel better then.” 

“I feel good  _now,_ ” Michael replies, jumping off Alex’s touch. “Oh, hey, you have guitars here,” he points at the cases displayed throughout the living room. 

“I was thinking of giving them away,” Alex explains, but the sound feels so far away to Michael’s ears as he touches one of the cases, the zipper open enough that Michael can see the wooden surface. He doesn’t think – he simply takes the guitar out of the case and leans into the wood, sniffing on it. “Guerin,” Alex insists. “What are you doing? Hey, you canʼt  _lick_  the strings!” 

Michael looks up at him from the spot where he’s completely hunched over the instrument, tongue peeking between his lips ready to savor the wood and the strings. “I can taste sound,” he protests. 

“Man, youʼre so going to be embarrassed tomorrow,” Alex laughs as he snatches the guitar out of Michael’s hands. He lets go of the instrument with a whine. “Why donʼt we go to bed?” he suggests. 

Suddenly the idea sounds really appealing to Michael, whoʼs just realizing how tired he really is. “Why am I so exhausted?” he asks, allowing his body go limp under Alex’s hands that are guiding him back to the bedroom. 

“Iʼve been told that bringing back the dead is kinda tiring,” Alex explains, but Michael isnʼt paying that much attention. His eyelids feel heavy and he yawns. “Itʼs been a while since you used acetone recreationally, Guerin. Youʼre really high.” 

“That I am,” he confirms giggling. “Come to bed with me?” 

Alex pats his shoulder affectionately. “Always.” 

Michael hums contentedly, allowing Alex to take him to the bedroom and undress him slowly, until heʼs down to his boxers and no shirt, and he climbs into bed holding onto Michaelʼs waist as though itʼs Alex’s silver lining. 

“Always,” he repeats before drifting to sleep, as the memories of the day begin to unfurl in his clouded mind – Max and glowing hands and Isobel and Alex, Alex, Alex – and he snuggles back into Alex’s chest, slumber finally claiming him.


	31. live a little ~ Rosa & Maria + it's finally over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _rosa is screaming out, hands in the air and ponytail completely disheveled as the device goes higher and higher, until she can almost touch the clouds_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for an anon prompt over at tumblr for the silly prompts meme. They prompted me with **welp, it’s finally over… Wanna go again?”**.

Rosa is screaming out, hands in the air and ponytail completely disheveled as the device goes higher and higher, until she can almost touch the clouds. The rails end abruptly on top of the first loop; Rosa holds onto the cool metal with both hands this time, daring a glance at her right, where a really frightened Maria is trying to collect herself before the ride even begins.

“C'mon, Maria,” Rosa calls her out. “It hasnʼt even started and youʼre already almost puking?”

“I am afraid of these things!” Maria yells, pale and trembling. It takes all of Rosaʼs self control not to reach over and caress that smooth cheek thatʼs now ten years older than her, when only last month Rosa had been the eldest of their small found family.

“Here,” Rosa instructs, patting the metallic railing with deft fingers. “Take my hand. Itʼll help.”

She smiles broadly when Maria complies, and the smile doesn’t leave her face for as long as the ride lasts – just as Maria doesn’t let go of her hand.

They hold hands the entire ride, and Rosa feels the cold bite of reality when the ride stops and they have to leave. Mariaʼs hand slips away from hers, leaving behind a trail of warmth and promises to be kept.

“Welp,” she says. “Itʼs finally over!”

“Yeah, yeah it is,” Maria whispers as she fixes the front of her dress.

“Wanna go again?” Rosa asks, knowing all too well that she’s asking about much more than the ride, trying to fool herself into believing that, no matter what happens from now on, they will always be friends.

Maris rises up to the bait and smiles. “With you? Always.”

It sounds like a promise and a vow and a threat; Rosa doesn’t give herself enough time to overthink. She just grabs Mariaʼs hand once again and drags her across the line waiting for a new ride.


	32. a conversation, not a war ~ Malex + one missed call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _whenever he’s down in the project shepherd bunker, alex loses track of time_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Manesalex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manesalex) for the microfic meme. She prompted me with **one missed call**.

Whenever he’s down in the Project Shepherd bunker, Alex loses track of time. He would forget to eat, forget to sleep, and he would even miss the sun rising up in the horizon and setting down every day if it weren’t for his phone, set up to chime every few hours. 

He sighs, fingers hovering on top of the keyboard, the images on the wide screen already blurry before his eyes. Alex is sure he’s been holed up in the bunker for way longer than he should have, but he’s found a trail of data leading him to what looks like a different facility where more aliens could still be alive, and he wanted to ensure all the information was clear before showing it to the rest. To Michael. 

 _Michael_. 

Alex fumbles for his phone, buried underneath layers and layers of papers, somewhere on the desk that’s currently mostly made of Project Shepherd’s blueprints. When he finds it, he tries to light up the screen, only to find out it’s run out of battery. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath. “Shit, shit, shit." 

There must be a solution for this, he tells himself as he lifts every paper in his search of a way to plug his phone. He finds his charger soon enough, and when he manages to start his phone again, it beeps with several texts and notifications. Alex sighs again as he checks them all - he has a bunch of texts in the group chat about their weekly karaoke night that’s in a few days, some emails from Cam with updates from her New life with Charlie, a few pics sent by Maria of the Christmas decorations at the Wild Pony, and one single missed call.

Alex doesn’t need to check it to know who’s it from. 

The door to the bunker bursts open when he’s about to hit the call back button on his screen. 

"Figured you’d forgotten,” Michael says as he saunters into the bunker, cowboy hat in his hand and swagger in place. “I really should ban you from ever coming down here on your own." 

Alex wants to look ashamed, sheepish maybe, but he can’t stop a snicker from getting past his lips. 

"I see you find it funny, to have forgotten our anniversary date,” Michael tells him, but Alex knows he’s just joking. 

“I was working on your gift,” he explains, waving toward the screen. “I’m sorry I wasn’t in time for our date" 

Michael smiles fondly. "You work too hard,” he tells Alex. “I thought we said no gifts,” he goes on with a frown. 

“And I would have stuck to it, but then I found out about  _this_ ,” Alex says. 

“And what’s this?" 

Alex smiles widely before tugging Michael down for a kiss, now that he’s close enough to touch. He hadn’t planned to miss their anniversary date — one year since they chose to stop hurting each other and work together to heal — but his side job with Project Shepherd has led him to some interesting albeit terrifying discoveries. Things that he knows Michael would appreciate. 

"There are more, Michael,” Alex whispers against Michael’s lips. “And they’re alive. We can try to save them.”

Michael looks up at the screen, numbers and images dancing on it, lighting up his face in blue and yellow. He smiles softly. 

“Thank you,” he kisses the words into Alex’s neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you." 

"I love you,” Alex states simply, because there’s no way he’s not saying those words ever again, no way he’s not showing how he feels ever again. 

Michael nudges at him slightly until Alex is looking at him again. “I love you too,” he begins. “But please don’t ever let your phone die on you, ever again. I was worried." 

"You said you knew I’d forgotten." 

"I was still worried." 

Alex sighs contentedly and sags back against Michael, who’s crouched over the chair, arms draped around Alex. It’s not the most comfortable position, but Alex can’t complain. He kisses Michael’s palm briefly before shutting off the computer. 

"I believe we had some date duties to do." 

"Oh,” Michael laughs. “We can fulfill all those  _duties_  right here." 

All of Alex’s protests are drowned in Michael’s throat as he kisses Alex deeply, effectively swallowing all his words. 


	33. out in the woods ~ Alex & Buffy + thanks for the gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _one of the things alex loves most about winter is the snow_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Lostin_Space](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostin_space) for the Winter Prompts meme. She prompted me with **“Thanks for the, uh, gift."**.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Buffy Manes (meaning: warning for extreme cuteness or at least an attempt at that)

One of the things Alex loves most about winter is the snow. When he was a child, his mom would take him and his brothers out for skiing and riding sleighs; those are the memories he most cherishes from his childhood. He’s missed it during his deployments, and now that he’s back home he revels in the chill that zigzags up his spine when he gets outside the cabin, a bright orange ball in his hand, ready to play with Buffy in the snow that has begun to settled around the woods.

“Good girl,” he says when Buffy brings back the ball for the first time, her paws tiptoeing on the snow carefully. It’s her first time outside with so much cold; Alex can tell she’s excited about the novelty of it all, although Buffy growls a little when snowflakes start falling down on her head. “It’s just snow, Buffy,” he calms her. “You’ll enjoy it, you’ll see.”

After a while outside, Alex is starting to freeze underneath his multiple layers — an undershirt, a thick wool sweater, a snow coat and gloves and beanie. He calls for Buffy, but his puppy is nowhere to be seen, having rushed after the ball into the woods. He becomes worried instantly; there are wild animals around and Buffy is still young. “Buffy!” he calls for her, and only breathes again when the beagle shows up again from the line of trees, no orange ball in sight.

She reaches him, tail wiggling happily and a filthy stick between her teeth. Alex crouches to pet her head, loosening the stick from her grip and trying to throw it away. Buffy growls lowly, and turns around to pick the stick once again, placing it on the ground close to Alex’s foot, her snout nudging his leg. He frowns, pointing at the stick. “For me?” he asks, feeling silly for talking to a dog and expecting her to reply.

Buffy barks happily, her tail moving quickly as she looks up at him. “Uh,” he starts, picking the stick and watching closely as Buffy follows his every move. He twirls it between his fingers, less and less confused. His foot is digging into the snow, his prosthesis soaking up, and he’s sure he’s never been happier.

“Thanks for the, uh, gift, Buffy,” he scratches behind her ear as he thanks her, his voice quivering ever so slightly. He motions for her to follow him inside, leaving the snowflakes falling behind them as they seek the warmth of a good fireplace.


	34. i can't watch her die at all ~ Isobel & Liz + an abandoned/empty space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _the faint glow bathes her features as she wraps her oversized sweater tighter around her thinning frame_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [JustSomeJerk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsomejerk) for the microfic meme. She prompted me with **Liz &Isobel + an empty/abandoned space**.
> 
>  **Warnings:** mentions of Max’s death, mentions of Michael’s spiraling, Isobel & Liz grieving

The faint glow bathes her features as she wraps her oversized sweater tighter around her thinning frame. Isobel doesn’t even blink as she stares at the pod, currently empty but still glowing, in the middle of the cave where Noah had worshipped Rosa’s body for over ten years.

She’s been coming here whenever she needs to think, to remember the lies she’s lived in for years. She can’t bear entering the cave where the three of them hatched – where Max is still floating in his pod, alone and  _dead_. She can’t help the tears that spring to her eyes when she sees him, naked and defenseless, as though time isn’t passing through him. She can’t stand the thought that they’re all moving on without Max, like half of her soul has been ripped out of her, and they’re not closer to a solution than they were seven and a half months ago.

Isobel wipes angrily her cheeks, tears rolling freely down to wet her neck. She doesn’t want to cry, she’s cried enough. She’s spent  _weeks_  crying for what could have been – for the past she didn’t really live through, for the future she may not have with her brother, for the present when Michael’s spiraling so hard that he’s not sober anymore. All she wanted was normalcy, but all she got was a lie bigger than the one she’d been keeping from her husband.

A hand lands on her shoulder, startling her. “You’re not alone,” Liz says, tiptoeing around her, fingers digging in her shoulder. “You know that, right?”

“I can’t feel him,” Isobel chokes out, collapsing against Liz’s shorter frame; Liz catches her and holds her as they both stumble down to the ground.

“I know,” Liz soothes her, hands drawing circles on Isobel’s back. “We’ll find a way, I promise.”

Isobel doesn’t have any hope left in her – after all, hope has proved to be  _actually_  a dangerous thing in this world, like a crash landing replaying over and over in an endless loop. Liz is the only one who understands Isobel anymore – the only one who’s lost and gained something with Max’s death, and who’s still unscathed enough to grief without drowning in alcohol and brawls.

So she holds onto whatever tiny light she can still feel inside of herself, fueled by the hope she can feel in Liz’s words – oozing off her in waves of warm reds and painless oranges – and allows herself to cry in this narrow cave where her life began and ended seven and a half months ago.


	35. maybe i smelled like trouble ~ Michael Guerin + broken glass [CW CHILD ABUSE]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _he learns the hard way that he can bend matter to his will_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [El-Gilliath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/el_gilliath) for the microfic meme. She prompted me with **Michael Guerin + broken glass**.
> 
> **Warnings: heavy angst, child abuse. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.**

He learns the hard way that he can bend matter to his will. One second he’s happily playing with Kendra’s Barbie, and the next he feels the back of his head exploding under the force of an open palm hitting his skull and the yells that follow, “boys don’t play with dolls!” in a ragged, heavy voice that reeks of alcohol and smoke.

Along with the pain in his head, all the windows in the whole house explode in tiny shreds that are sent flying throughout the different rooms, covering everything in white as though a hailstorm has swept the whole house. He lifts his arms to protect his face – whether from the slap or from the broken glass, he doesn’t know – and the shreds cut into his skin, not too deep to cause too much damage, but enough to draw blood, a trail of small buds of glass peeking out from his arms, blood drops slowly trickling down to the floor.

“What the fuck?” the same voice, startled and confused but also angry and determined. “What have you done, you little piece of shit?”

He cries out when his hair is pulled, his feet dragging across the wooden floors as his arms keep bleeding. “Please,” he begs, not really knowing what for; he just wants the pain to stop – the pain from the outside, written in sleek fingers digging into his already open skin, and the pain from the inside, colored by the fear of not knowing what’s going on but strengthened by the knowledge that he can be unstoppable.

His pleas fall on deaf ears, and he learns, at only eight, that he has to control his fear if he wants to survive on Earth.


	36. she was her daughter ~ Rosa & Jim + "you're not my real father!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _rosa is fuming_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [angsty-aliens](https://angsty-aliens.tumblr.com) for the microfic meme. She prompted me with **“You’re not my real dad!”**.
> 
>  **Warnings:** mentions of drug addiction

Rosa is fuming. She’s seeing red, trying to get away from the detox dungeon Jim Valenti has set up for her in an attempt to help her overcome her addictions and come clean. But the hatch won’t budge, and she slides down the ladder, turning around to face Jim, who’s standing next to the bed with his arms crossed.

“Now would you stop being so childish and let me help you?” he asks, and it’s obviously the worst thing to say, because Rosa doesn’t feel soothed, she doesn’t feel safe.

She feels chided, and when she doesn’t feel at ease she snaps. And when she snaps, she says ugly things that she doesn’t really mean.

“You’re not my real dad!” she screams at him, a few feet away from Jim but taking a step toward the bed. “Who do you think you are? You think that because you got my mother pregnant, you’ll instantly be my father?”

Although, this time, maybe she does.

Jim flinches at her words, but she doesn’t relent. She’s unstoppable now, words spilling from her mouth. She throws them, spitfire style, hoping they cut deep into Jim’s heart and soul and stop him from trying to fix her when there’s nothing to fix. She’s damaged goods, as crazy as her mother, as irresponsible and addict. Jim can’t help her, not now, not ever.

“Where were you when I scraped my knees while learning to ride a bike? Where were you when I was puking my guts out when I got the stomach flu at seven? Where were you, Jim?” she spits, close enough to him to shove him, hard.

He stumbles back until the back of his knees hit the bed, and she pushes hard enough for him to fall down onto it.

“Let me help you,” he keeps saying from his spot blow her gaze.

“I don’t need your help,” she sobs, falling to the ground in a heap of tears and shivers, as reality hits her like a freight train.

She’s alone, and with only Jim to support her, she’s going to get lost in herself and her addictions.

“Let me help you,” Jim repeats, standing up to crouch beside her, holding her in his arms as she cries and trembles, until she’s completely spent.

He takes her in his arms and moves her to the bed, allowing her to weep until she falls asleep.


	37. my entropy changes ~ Malex + food hoarding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _some people stack papers, some people gather books, some people never get over a childhood spent cooking meth_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Angsty-Aliens](https://angsty-aliens.tumblr.com) for the _I wish you wrote a fic..._ meme. She prompted me with **Michael Guerin hoards food and he’s embarrassed about it especially since he actually has money now. But he can’t help himself. And of course Alex**.
> 
>  **Warnings:** mentions of past child abuse, talk about personal fears

Some people stack papers, peeking out of books and shelves in their perfect houses in their perfect neighborhoods. Some people like Max gather books, and some people like Rosa collect pins and vinyls. Some people print tons of pictures and keep albums all around the rooms in their condos.

Some people never get over a childhood spent cooking meth and getting exorcised; some people never forget how it feels to be underfed and over-abused, in one way or another. Some people never move one from certain things, because the lack of love in the earlier years of someone’s life is decisive in that person’s development.

Michael Guerin never got over opening cabinets in shitty kitchenettes and finding them empty when all he wanted to ─ all he _needed_ ─ was a bite after over twenty-four hours without eating anything.

At twenty-eight, he hoards every can he finds at the store that fits his budget, using up all the coupons he can find. He doesn’t know how to stop, and he tries not to run into anyone at the store when he goes grocery shopping, because he’s really ashamed of his tendencies. These days he has enough money to go shopping twice a week if he so much wanted to, and he can afford not to stock cans and cans of tomato soup underneath the bunk at the Airstream because there’s not enough space in the cabinets ─ he’s overflooded them with bags of pasta and rice, and he’s even hidden several boxes of peanut butter crackers underneath the pillow on the cot. 

He knows his financial situation is way better now than it was years ago, while growing up, and that Isobel would kill him if she _thought_ he’d had the need to hoard food, but he can’t help himself.

Also, he doesn’t expect anyone to be sharing his bed anytime soon. He’s been trying really hard to stay sober, and that means avoiding the Wild Pony and any other bars around town. Not drinking means no drunken flirting, and that means he’s been celibate for months now. On top of that, he doesn’t _want_ to fall into bed with anyone, not after the fallout with Maria, not after realizing that he could build a strong relationship with Alex based on trust and _love_ ; because they love each other, they just don’t know how to live with that knowledge so they’re walking together the path to atonement.

They have been dating tentatively, just holding hands and going out together, kissing a bit but trying not to fall into old habits — which theyʼve done, five times. Not that Michael’s keeping a track record or anything. 

The knock on his door startles him, forcing him to drop the box of crackers on the bed and covering it quickly with the sheets before opening the metallic door. “Alex,” he breathes out when he sees the other man standing outside his trailer. 

“Hello, Guerin,” he greets as he steps inside, not waiting for an invitation — they’re way past the awkward beginnings when they didn’t know how to behave around each other. 

“Did we have a date tonight?” Michael asks stupidly, wishing for Alex to forego the bed and sit on the chair. He has no such luck, and Alex chooses the same spot where Michael has hidden the box. He cringes when Alex sits down and crushed the package with a loud and telling _crack_. 

If there’s something that Michael hates more than his dependence of food hoarding, is food going to waste. 

“Alex,” he begins when the other man stands up and reaches underneath the sheets to grasp the ruined box with two shaky fingers.

“Do I want to know?” Alex asks, giving Michael a graceful way out that Michael, being the stubborn and oblivious alien that he is, ignores. 

“I keep tons of non perishables everywhere,” he confesses. It feels like a weightʼs lifted off his shoulders. “I donʼt know why I keep doing so, but I just—” 

“Itʼs okay,” Alex reaches out and hugs him, prying his hands off his curls. “I still sleep with the light on and the door locked when Iʼm alone at home.” He doesn’t elaborate; he doesn’t need to. They both know that, even now that Jesse Manes isn’t a threat anymore, Alex feels safer if he has every situation under control. 

“Arenʼt you freaked out?” 

“I would _never_ be freaked out by you, sweetheart,” Alex promises. “I wasnʼt when I found out you were an alien Iʼm not going to start now. But if it bothers you, we can work it out. Together.” 

“I would love that,” Michael agrees. “On one condition,” he asks. 

“Which is?” 

“You let me help you overcome your fears and demons as well.” 

Alex smiles softly at him. “You know, there’s more space at the cabin for all of your cans,” he offers. “And I can compromise not to sleep with the light on if youʼre there with me every night.” 

“Is that an invitation, Private?” 

Alex drops a kiss on Michael’s hairline with a soft smile playing on his lips. “More like the next step.” 

“Long overdue, in my opinion.” 

“Guerin,” Alex warns him, amused. “What do you say?” 

“It was about time, Private,” Michael laughs. “I thought youʼd never ask.”

Alex laughs with him before kissing him senseless, until both of them forget about the food hoarding and the sleeping with the light on and the ruined cracker boxes and the open doors.


	38. the evil is you ~ Malex + Alex's time in the military

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“i think this is the last one!” michael calls out as he drops the box he’s taken out of alex’s cabin onto the bed of his truck. “we’re ready to go, private.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the anon prompt **I wish you would write a fic where Michael learns something about Alex’s time in the military** for the _I wish you would write a fic where_ challenge over at Tumblr. You can always drop me a prompt [here](https://lire-casander.tumblr.com/ask).
> 
> Set in the well-adjusted nebulous future, where they’re already a couple and living together for a while. CW: mentions of war and violence, mentions of death, mentions of international terrorism
> 
> This is inspired by the two American soldiers and his friend who, along with a British man, reduced a terrorist on a train from Amsterdam to Paris on August 24th, 2015. This is my modest tribute to those brave men and women who go out of their way to save innocents.

“I  _think_  this is the last one!” Michael calls out as he drops the box he’s taken out of Alex’s cabin onto the bed of his truck. “We’re ready to go, Private.”

Alex smiles at him from his spot next to the rocking chair on the porch, where he’s been checking on Buffy while Michael loaded the truck. They both had agreed that Michael could manage the boxes and Alex could play with Buffy to keep her from stressing about moving out of the cabin. “Buffy!” he calls for the beagle, and she comes running toward him from the woods, tongue sticking out as she rushes to his side. “C’mon, girl, go with Michael!”

She obeys, and Michael finds himself with a handful of fur he pets absentmindedly as he unlocks the doors of the vehicle. Alex limps down the steps, dragging his crutch across the wooden floor, and Michael frowns at the motion. “Have you taken your meds today?” he asks, lifting Buffy and allowing her to step into the truck cab. “You’re limping a lot.”

“It’s okay,” Alex assures him, sliding into the passenger’s seat with a grimace. “I’ll be fine by the time we get there. I promise. I just need to rest the leg a little.”

Michael nods and walks around the truck as he eyes everything they’ve already loaded for the day. It turns out that moving out of a cabin in the outskirts of Roswell and into a downtown house is harder than it seems, and Michael is exhausted. He knows he’ll be collapsing on the bed the second he sets foot on the bedroom.

There’s a gleam on the ground that catches his eye. He sees a picture at his feet, most probably fallen from one of the boxes he’s hastily moved in order to get out of there as soon as possible. He crouches down and picks it up, dusting it off with a brush of his fingers before taking a good look at it. He blinks before walking back to Alex, the photo clutched in his fist.

“Alex, I believe this is yours,” he says softly, stretching his hand out and placing the photograph on Alex’s lap. His boyfriend looks down and sighs. Michael doesn’t ask – Alex would have told him about the picture if he’d wanted to – but he waits for Alex to say something. “You look good in your dress blues.”  

Michael watches as Alex caresses reverently the image – he’s wearing his ceremonial blue uniform, and it looks like he’s attending some sort of medal ceremony. Michael smiles tentatively at his boyfriend when Alex looks up. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“This is from the day I got my Airman’s Medal,” Alex explains softly, grabbing the picture and placing it over his heart. “Around 2015.”

“So, apart from the Purple Heart, you  _do_  have other decorations,” Michael teases him. Alex sighs again. “You don’t have to explain anything,” he repeats. “I’m sorry. Here, gimme the pic and I’ll place it with the others in a box.”

“No,” Alex counteracts, shaking his head and putting a hand on Michael’s arm to stop him. “It’s just–I had forgotten I still had this picture.”

“Bad memories?” Michael says stupidly. He wants to kick himself.  _Of course it’s a bad memory, you moron_ , he chides himself.  _If it wasn’t, Alex would have already talked about it_.

“I was in Europe when the DAESH started striking,” Alex explains, gaze back down to the picture. Michael can see that the printed Alex is smiling a tight smile, as though he doesn’t want to be there. He isn’t much different than the Alex he remembers from before the war and the losses and the shed. “It was summer. Two men from my squad and I, we hopped on a train, wanted to go see Europe. We were so young. We thought we were so experienced, having been back from our second tour. Can you believe it? I was barely twenty-five, and I thought I knew enough.” There’s a tear rolling down his cheek now, his hands are trembling.

Michael waits patiently as Alex composes himself, yearning to hold him in his arms and promise him that no one will ever hurt him again.  _He’s seen enough war to last him a lifetime_ , Michael thinks.  _Will this ever stop hurting?_

He has to shake himself into this reality where Alex is back retelling a story when his boyfriend carefully asks, “am I bothering you?”

“You know you aren’t,” Michael rushes to tell him. Buffy at his feet rubs her back against the flesh that peeks underneath the shorts Alex is wearing. “I just spaced out. I’m sorry.”

“There was a terrorist in the train. He had a Kalashnikov, and he was ready to fire,” Alex remembers, voice as tense as his grip on Michael’s arm. “We didn’t really have time to think. It was so similar to war, you know, trying to save the world, but this time it wasn’t a faceless threat. This time it was a man, not really much older than us; a fight to be the last man standing.” Alex shivers. “We struggled, we kicked him down and reduced him. We got shot. We got  _innocent_  people shot.”

“I bet it was scary,” Michael quips when Alex trails off.

“It really wasn’t as scary as a war is, Michael,” Alex tells him. “But somehow it made me realize that the people we’re fighting are so similar to us. They’re just doing what they’re told to,” he shudders, and Michael knows what comes next, because he’s heard it countless times before, the mantra Alex tells himself to sleep at night when his nightmares threaten to consume him  _and all of a sudden, things are burning, people are screaming, and then you look around and you realize that the evil is you_.

“Just like you were.”

“That was a turning point for me,” Alex confesses. “I went to the ceremony, I accepted my medal, and that was all. I was a hero, and then what? I got to  _keep_  killing people. I didn’t understand why I was better than the people we were fighting, but I never got to have an answer.” Alex taps on his prosthesis once, twice, a staccato Michael’s already used to. “On the next tour, we were ambushed and I was sent home.”

“You barely survived,” Michael whispers. “You could have died.”

“I  _did_  die.” Alex doesn’t look up at him. He’s still staring at his own picture. “I didn’t want to live, ever again.”

“I’m glad you did, though,” Michael whispers, leaning in and dropping a gentle kiss on Alex’s hairline. “I’m glad you got to come back to me, Alex.”

For a second Alex remains silent, and when he looks up into Michael’s eyes, his gaze is clouded by tears. “Me too, Michael,” he whispers back. “Me too.”

They remain silent for the longest time, quiet and still in the midst of their own grief and relief, Buffy panting softly at Alex’s feet, until the stars showed them the way back home.


	39. home is wherever you are ~ Michael & Isobel + buying the Airstream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the tale about why michael loves his airstream so much, in two different languages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [aewriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aewriting) who asked for **“I wish you would write a fic where...” aprendemos cómo Michael adquirió su Airstream.** for the _I wish you would write a fic where_ challenge over at Tumblr. You can always drop me a prompt [here](https://lire-casander.tumblr.com/ask).
> 
> This story is double. First you'll find the Spanish version, the original one I wrote. And below the line, after the Spanish version, you'll find the English translation. I don't think Ao3 allows me to choose two different languages for one work, so I will be updating the tags to warn about that, and I will try to code it so you can jump to either version within the page, but I cannot promise anything, I'm not well versed on HTML!

**Spanish version**

Michael Guerin nunca ha tenido cosas bonitas en su vida, y tampoco ha tenido nada que fuera suyo como tal hasta que convenció a Sanders para que le dejara quedarse el Chevy destrozado que había llegado al taller cuando Michael tenía dieciséis años. Durante los últimos diez años, desde que regresó a Roswell, Michael ha tenido que pelearse con Isobel para que ella dejara de comprarle cosas que de manera normal Michael no habría podido permitirse. Pero su hermana no comprende que a él no le van las cosas bonitas – no, Michael es más de la misma tierra que no reconoce como suya; es un chico normal y corriente, más bien tirando a desastre natural, que se conforma con más bien poco. No necesita polos de marca ni comida extravagante ni un coche grande.

Tampoco necesita el apartamento de dos dormitorios y terraza en el centro de Roswell que Isobel se ha empeñado en enseñarle en uno de esos portales inmobiliarios que tanto le gusta mirar.

– Iz –  le dice, parpadeando cuando el brillo de la pantalla del portátil empieza a hacer que sus ojos lloren – Iz, ya está bien. No necesito un apartamento, de verdad.

– ¡Pues claro que lo necesitas! – Isobel le recrimina, tecleando un par de datos nuevos en los filtros de búsqueda – En algún sitio tienes que vivir, ahora que por fin tienes un trabajo que te permite dejar de dormir en la camioneta.

– ¡A mí me gusta mi camioneta! – Michael exclama, levantando un poco la voz – La Chevy ha sido mi casa los últimos cinco años. Que ahora Foster me pague no quiere decir que tenga que convertirme en un señorito de ciudad.

– ¿Y qué piensas hacer? – Isobel le mira con dureza teñida de melancolía. De los mellizos, ella ha sido siempre la que más se ha preocupado por él; Max siempre ha estado un paso por delante, organizando su vida y marcando el ritmo a seguir sin casi contar con ellos – No puedes vivir en tu camioneta para siempre.

Michael sonríe con picardía y le hace gestos con las manos para que Isobel le deje el portátil. Con una soltura que no suele mostrar cerca de ningún aparato tecnológico, se pone a teclear y en pocos segundos gira el aparato para que su hermana pueda observar la imagen. Siente un cosquilleo de orgullo y de malicia cuando Isobel primero frunce el ceño y luego se ríe como si se tratara de una broma.

– No hablarás en serio.

– No he hablado más en serio en mi vida desde que dije que algún diría volvería a casa – Michael le contesta, golpeando suavemente la pantalla a la altura de la imagen – Esta va a ser mi casa, Iz. No necesito un apartamento porque ya he comprado una casa.

– Eso  _no_  es una casa, Michael – Isobel dice, meneando la cabeza – Es un remolque.

– Es un Airstream, la mejor marca de casas con ruedas del país – Michael le explica, aunque sabe que va a caer en saco roto – Ya la he pagado. Aunque es de segunda mano, está en muy buenas condiciones, y puedo irla arreglando poco a poco. Foster me deja aparcarla en el rancho, tiene suficiente espacio, y no molestaré.

Michael calla entonces; no quiere seguir hablando y dar a entender que cada vez que ha intentado hablar con sus hermanos acerca de vivir todos juntos, compartir gastos, buscar un futuro juntos, Max siempre ha dicho que no era el momento e Isobel siempre ha estado demasiado ocupada con sus fiestas en la universidad para preocuparse del futuro. Ahora Max es un agente en prácticas en la oficina del sheriff y tiene su propia casa en las afueras de Roswell; Isobel tiene novio y es cuestión de tiempo que se vayan a vivir juntos. Ya no hay sitio para Michael en ningún sitio.

Isobel no puede hacerse cargo eternamente del fracasado de su hermano. Y a Max no pueden asociarlo con un criminal como Michael – que tiene ya varios antecedentes penales de cuando era un adolescente y tenía que robar para poder comer – así que no puede irse a vivir con él.

Además, que ahora Michael tiene algo por lo que luchar, algo por lo que merece la pena quedarse en este planeta que tan mal lo ha tratado. Y tener un remolque que puede moverse a cualquier parte le va a venir bien, si quiere visitar otras ciudades, otros estados. Si quiere ir y venir sin complicaciones ni ataduras, sin dar explicaciones a nadie y sin tener que decirle a ninguna de sus hermanos que le cuiden las plantas.

No puede esperar a ver qué cara pone Alex cuando aparezca con el Airstream cerca de la base en la que está destinado ahora, estudiando para convertirse en oficial.

Sabe que no puede compartirlo con Isobel, realmente no puede compartirlo con nadie, pero hay una fuerza interior que le anima a seguir adelante, a caminar todavía más lejos, si con eso puede estar más cerca de Alex, aunque les haya separado un futuro incierto y un pasado doloroso; aunque tenga el recuerdo perenne de un martillo en su piel y el tatuaje de un amor eterno en su alma.

Este pequeño gran paso que ha dado, por primera vez en su vida, de un egoísmo sin precedentes, le hace sentirse adulto. Le hace sentir que tiene por fin las riendas de su vida y va a poder controlar cada paso que dé a partir de ahora.

Por supuesto, Isobel tiene que venir a estropearle la alegría de sentirse feliz por primera vez en mucho tiempo.

– No me parece adecuado.

– Creo que no te das cuenta, Iz, de que me da exactamente igual lo que consideres adecuado – sabe que está siendo injusto, pero no le importa. Ahora no es el momento de ser educado – La he comprado, y ya está. No voy a echarme atrás. Puedes apoyarme o no.

Isobel resopla, pero finalmente cede. Michael observa su transformación, la sonrisa de papel que se pinta en la cara y la mirada que se torna triste y comprensiva como si estuviera hablando con un niño pequeño.

– ¿Al menos me dejarás decorarla? – pregunta esperanzada, y Michael, que nunca ha sabido decirle que no, no puede negarle este pequeño capricho.

Al fin y al cabo, ahora ya es libre de hacer y deshacer, ya tiene su propio espacio. Está dispuesto a comerse el mundo, kilómetro a kilómetro, y espera tener a su lado a su familia y al amor de su vida.

* * *

 

**English version**

Michael Guerin has never had nice things in his life, neither has he had anything that was purely  _his_  until he managed to convince Sanders to let him keep the shattered Chevy that reached the junkyard when Michael was about sixteen. For the last ten years, ever since he came back to Roswell, Michael has been fighting Isobel so she stopped buying him the things that Michael wouldn’t have been able to afford on his own. But his sister doesn’t understand he’s not a nice things kind of guy – no, Michael comes from the very same earth he doesn’t call his; he’s your average guy, leaning on the natural disaster side of his psyche, he settles with really simple things. He doesn’t need Henleys or extravagant food or a big car.

He doesn’t need the downtown-Roswell, two-bedroom-and-terrace apartment Isobel has decided to show him in one of those online real estate websites she loves to check.

“Iz,” he tells her, blinking when the brightness of the laptop screen makes his eyes water. “Iz, enough. I don’t need an apartment, really.”

“Of course you need it!” Isobel chides him, typing a couple of new details in the search engine. “You have to live somewhere, now that you finally have a job and can afford  _not_  sleeping on your truck anymore.”

“Hey, I love my truck!” Michael exclaims, rising up his voice a notch. “That Chevy has been my home for the past five years. The fact that Foster pays me now doesn’t mean that I have to turn into a posh version of myself.”

“So, what are you planning to do, then?” Isobel looks at him with steel in her eyes, but also with a tinge of sadness. Out of both twins, she’s the one to always worry about him; Max has always been a step ahead, planning their lives and setting the pace of their race without actually talking to them. “You can’t live off your truck forever.”

Michael smiles mischievously, and makes grabby hands so Isobel lends him the laptop. With an ease he doesn’t usually show around technological devices, he begins typing. After a few seconds, he turns around the screen so his sister can see the image displayed on it. He feels a peak of pride laced with slyness when Isobel first frowns and then laughs it off as though what she’s seeing is just a joke.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I haven’t been more serious in my whole life, ever since I told you I would come back home, some day,” Michael replays, tapping the screen lightly over the image. “This is going to be my home, Iz. I don’t need an apartment because I already got a home.”

“That’s not a home, Michael,” Isobel tells him, shaking her head. “It’s a trailer.”

“It’s an Airstream, the best brand for houses on wheels in the whole country,” Michael explains, although he knows it’s to no avail. “I’ve already paid for it. Even though it’s second-hand, it’s in really good shape, and I can fix it on the go. Foster will let me park it at the ranch, he’s got enough space, and I won’t be a bother.”

Michael remains silent after that; he doesn’t want to keep talking and say that, every single time he’s tried to talk to his siblings about living together, sharing expenses, looking for a future  _together_ , Max has always replied that it wasn’t time yet and Isobel has always been too busy with her college parties to worry about any kind of future. Now Max is an internship deputy at the Sheriff’s office and has his own house in the outskirts of Roswell; Isobel’s got herself a boyfriend and it’s just a matter of time that she moves in with him. There’s no place left for Michael anywhere.

Isobel can’t take charge of every one of his failures. And Max can’t be associated with a criminal like Michael – who already has a record for theft during his teenage years, when he couldn’t afford food – so Michael can’t go live with him.

Besides, now Michael has something to fight for, something worth staying in this planet that’s treated him so badly. And having a trailer with which he can go anywhere is going to be positive for him, if he wants to visit other places, other states. If he wants to come and go freely, no complications, no strings attached, without having to explain himself and without having to ask any of his siblings to take care of his plants.

He can’t wait to see Alex’s face when he shows up in the Airstream next to the base he’s stationed now, while he studies to become an officer.

Michael knows he can’t share this with Isobel – he can’t really share it with anyone – but there’s this inner strength pushing him forward, pushing him to take yet another step further from this life, if that’s what it takes to be closer to Alex even though they’re kept apart by an uncertain future and a painful past; even though Michael has the everlasting memory of a hammer on his skin and the tattoo of an endless love in his soul.

This step he’s taken now – small and yet so, so big, for the first time in his whole life, showing an unprecedented selfishness – makes him feel already an adult. It makes him feel like he’s finally taking over his own life, that he will be able to control everything he does from now on.

Of course, Isobel comes to spoil his giddiness at feeling happy for the first time in long years.

“I don’t find it suitable.”

“I think you haven’t realized, Iz, that I really don’t give a fuck what you find suitable.” He knows he’s being unfair, but he doesn’t care. Now is not the moment to be polite. “I’ve bought the Airstream, and that’s it. I’m not backing down. Support me or don’t, Iz. I don’t care.”

Isobel huffs but in the end she relents. Michael witnesses her transformation, the paper smile she paints on her face and the gaze that turns sad and sympathetic, as though she’s talking to a small kid.

“Will you at least let me decorate it?” she asks, hopeful, and Michael, who’s never been able to deny her anything, can’t say no to this small whim of hers.

After all, now he’s free, he has his own space. He’s ready to take over the world, one mile at a time, and he hopes to have his family and the love of his life by his side in this new journey.

Back


End file.
